


Woofgang Puck

by Dracoduceus



Series: Words With Benefits [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hanzo is a Little Shit, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Pretending to be a dog, Rimming, Rough Sex, Touch-Starved Hanzo, Unprotected Sex, Were! Hanzo, discussion of blood and gore, intercrural, more tags to be added later, use protection in real life pls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: While undercover in Australia, Reinhardt and McCree find a stray. Torbjörn disagrees—this "puppy" is easily the largest dog he's ever seen. In the end they decide to keep him around...but little do they knew that he is no ordinary dog, but a were on the run from the Junker Queen.--Hanzo is surprised by the turn in his luck and resolves to stay around for a while, if only for the free food. Soon enough he finds himself at the Overwatch base as an unofficial K-9 agent, though he can't say that he really complains.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: Words With Benefits [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1498223
Comments: 106
Kudos: 417





	1. Woofgang

**Author's Note:**

> **Currently rated for violence**. Rating will increase in later chapters...for other reasons.
> 
> Prompt based on discussions with [IchigoWhiskey]() which was in turn based on [this post](https://twitter.com/akkitwts/status/1189516545367523331?s=21) on Twitter.

“Felix!” Reinhardt roared, nearly kicking down the door of their rented house.

Torbjörn eyed the frame as the posts groaned and turned outward. He made a mental note to buy longer nails at the store. It wouldn’t stop Reinhardt at his most boisterous, but it might decrease the damage he accidentally caused in his casual enthusiasm.

“That’s not my name,” Torbjörn said tiredly. It wasn’t even his cover name, just a silly thing that Reinhardt and McCree had taken to calling him. “What is it now, Reinhardt?”

The giant lumbered into the room. Despite his size and large, stomping steps, Reinhardt could move with surprising speed and grace. That all went out the window, of course, when he was excited.

“Okay,” Reinhardt boomed as he stopped in front of Torbjörn. “So…remember the puppy we found at the shop?”

Torbjörn huffed. Of course, he remembered the beast—it’s all McCree and Reinhardt would talk about for the past few weeks. The poor thing was some kind of stray and though Torbjörn felt sorry for the thing, he was still wary of feeding it—which McCree and Reinhardt insisted on doing.

They even volunteered to give up money from their portion of the alcohol budget to pay for good food for the poor thing. Torbjörn was fairly certain that the damn thing ate better than McCree did, if only because the former black ops agent wouldn’t buy just any kind of fast food for the creature.

He didn’t look forward to their moping when they had to leave it behind and was already mentally preparing himself for their heaving sighs and arguments to take it along when they left.

For all he’d _heard_ about the creature, Torbjörn still hadn’t seen it, as if the damn thing could sense that he wasn’t a fan of such four-legged beasts. Brigitte’s many cats were more than enough, thank you very much.

“Yes,” Torbjörn said gruffly. “I do.”

He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Reinhardt grinned and stepped aside, gesturing broadly like a game show host. Behind him, hidden by his bulk, stood the dog and McCree, both of them giving him near-identical looks of trepidation.

Despite standing on a stool, the dog’s eyes were almost level with his own; its shoulders were nearly the same size as the kitchen counters. It had springy black and silver fur that had been unevenly cut by two brutes wielding a pair of shears rather than a professional groomer—just as well, as Torbjörn didn’t want to know how they would justify that cost in their budget.

The dog wasn’t a breed that he recognized—not that he was any expert on dog breeding—and seemed as intrigued by Torbjörn as Torbjörn was horrified at its size. It was wearing a collar, some awful, gaudy thing that read what McCree and Reinhardt had taken to calling it: Woofgang Puck.

“That’s not a _puppy_ ,” Torbjörn said flatly and the dog’s ears lowered, his tail tucking between his legs nervously.

Reinhardt scooped the dog up in his arms like a baby; Woofgang’s tail gave a hesitant wag and it curled its plate-sized paws toward its body. “Nope!” Reinhardt cried. “He’s a puppy! He’s the best puppy!” the dog’s tail began to wag, its tongue lolling out of its mouth in a shy canine grin.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Torbjörn shook his head. “You want to keep it, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course!”

McCree came close and rubbed both of his hands into the dog’s exposed belly and it wiggled gleefully in Reinhardt’s arms. “He’s the best! C’mon, Felix, _please?_ ”

_There was a reason that I sent the kids to Ingrid when they made begging eyes_ , he mused ruefully to himself. He scrubbed a hand down his face again. When he looked at the group, he found Woofgang looking at him as well. He had large, soulful eyes and a bearded chin that somehow made it seem like he was begging as well.

“If he pees in the house, you’re cleaning it up,” Torbjörn sighed, feeling exactly like he was selling his soul to the devil.

“You hear that, buddy?” McCree asked, grabbing Woofgang’s head. The dog’s tail began to wag furiously, his tongue lolling out happily. “You have a home now!”

Shaking his head, Torbjörn climbed down from the stool. Let Winston deal with the headache of convincing them—or not—that they can’t keep a dog as enormous as Woofgang.

* * *

That didn’t happen, of course.

* * *

It had taken some convincing to get Woofgang to board the drop ship and they wondered if he had been a military dog, or if he was just abused as a puppy. They didn’t dare have Reinhardt carry him on but spent nearly an hour coaxing him closer and closer.

In the end it had taken McCree burying his fingers in Woofgang’s scraggly fur and walking pace-by-pace beside him, soothing him every time he stopped, for him to even approach the gangplank. Lena had nearly undone the effort when she Blinked out of the ship to demand why they were taking so long to load the ship.

Just when they were considering other options, Woofgang had heaved a heavy sigh and slowly stepped toward the ship. He had looked over his shoulder at McCree and whined when he put a hand on his head.

“C’mon, bud,” McCree whispered as Woofgang nudged his big head into his palm. “This’ll take us home.”

Woofgang looked behind them. The “home” they had taught him was _that way_ , not on the roaring ship in front of him.

“It was temporary,” McCree murmured to him, rubbing behind Woofgang’s floppy ears. “This is more permanent.” Woofgang whined again and McCree swallowed the lump in his throat. The big dog always whined like that, especially when they pet him. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around Woofgang’s shoulders. “Do you want to go home with us?”

Dogs could understand a lot but…this was pushing it. Still, Woofgang seemed to understand: he turned his head and gently licked McCree’s cheek. Unlike many dogs he’d interacted with, Woofgang didn’t slobber, gave tiny little licks and nuzzles of his cold nose.

When McCree released him and stepped back, Woofgang looked at him for a long moment before whining and stepping forward. McCree cupped Woofgang’s cheek and smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.

Side by side they walked into the carrier. McCree sat beside Woofgang’s kennel the whole way back to base, his fingers tangled in the bars and Woofgang’s cold nose pressed against them.

* * *

Properly warned, nobody approached Woofgang as he followed McCree—without a leash, because he was such a good boy—off of the ship. He even helped unload, much to the amazement of Lena and the other agents milling around.

They watched McCree point to the group’s duffel bags and order, “bag”. Dutifully the pony-sized dog trotted to the bag in question, picked it up by the straps, and followed McCree as he carried a crate of equipment into the base.

“He’s better behaved than most people I’ve met,” McCree said proudly. “Woofgang, drop it there, good boy.” The dog’s tail began to wag and he leaned his head into McCree’s hand. He obeyed and placed the bag neatly down in front of him. “We have a few more bags to get and some gear I think you can carry? You good to help out?”

Woofgang’s tail continued to wag and he gave a very quiet “boof”. The team watched, amazed, as he followed at McCree’s right heel, picked up another bag, waited until McCree picked up another box of equipment, and walked back with him.

They didn’t approach him and Woofgang seemed to content to not go near them, even going so far as to stop short if he drew too close. He backed up quickly when he saw Winston, giving a nervous whine low in his throat.

Immediately, McCree put down the equipment box in his arms and went to Woofgang, who kept his eyes on Winston. “It’s okay,” McCree murmured, digging his fingertips into Woofgang’s scraggly ruff. “Come on, let’s go meet him.”

Woofgang whined again but after a moment’s hesitation he took a few steps forward, following in McCree’s shadow.

Just to test a theory, McCree said, “Woofgang, greet.” The big dog looked up at him as if surprised to hear an order. He whined again but took a nervous step forward, his tail tucked between his legs, and stretched out his neck as far as he could, scenting the air.

Winston held out a hand, knuckles-first, for Woofgang to sniff. He did thoroughly, stepping closer on stiff feet, before backing away to McCree who scratched his ruff thoroughly.

“Good boy,” he murmured and Woofgang nudged his head into McCree’s thigh as if to say, _why yes, I am_. McCree patted his head again and said, “Woofgang, sit.” He obeyed and McCree ruffled his ears. “Good boy.”

“Isn’t he the best boy?” Reinhardt boomed with a gleeful laugh. Three boxes were stacked in his arms while Torbjörn followed, scolding him for not lifting properly. He dropped the boxes and Woofgang flinched, head and shoulders hunching. “Oh no, I’m so sorry _Liebling!_ ” He held his arms open wide. “Come here!”

Woofgang looked up at McCree as if for permission. When he nodded, Woofgang broke into a happy canine grin and jumped into Reinhardt’s arms. He was flipped around and held like one might hold a baby.

“He’s…very well trained,” Winston noted.

McCree nodded. “Yeah, I noticed that too. I think he was abandoned in one way or another—not uncommon in that area.”

“That’s so sad,” Mei said, having crept closer. “But he’s here now, isn’t he? Can he…can he stay?”

They all looked at Winston who shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not a good idea,” he said tiredly. “But…I don’t think I have the heart to turn him away. The problem is…”

“Alcohol budget,” McCree said with a shrug. “That’s what we did while we were away.”

Angela crossed her arms over her chest. “You gave up alcohol,” she said dubiously.

“I did too!” Reinhardt said brightly, still rocking Woofgang in his arms. “Because Woofgang is such a good boy and deserves nice things. Don’t you?” Woofgang’s tail wagged harder and he tipped his head over Reinhardt’s arm to give McCree a silly canine grin.

Winston fiddled with his glasses. “Perhaps at first we may need to do that,” Winston agreed. “But we can figure something out.”

“Perhaps a reworking of the budget is in order,” Angela suggested. “Not that I’m volunteering.”

McCree huffed. “ _I’ll_ do it,” he grumbled. “Seein’ as I’m the one that found this mutt.” Woofgang lifted his head and looked at McCree. He snorted.

Very carefully, Reinhardt put Woofgang down and watched as he trotted gleefully back to McCree.

“Can I…meet him?” Mei asked quietly.

McCree shrugged. “Let’s see. Why don’t you take a few steps closer? See how he reacts.”

Very carefully, Mei stepped forward and Woofgang moved to put McCree between the two of them. At McCree’s gesture she took a few more steps and then stopped just out of arm’s reach.

“This is Mei,” McCree murmured to Woofgang, feeling silly for talking to a dog the way he was. “You’ll like her, I know it. She’s a real sweetheart. Why don’t you greet her?” at the word “greet” Woofgang's ears twitched and he looked sadly at McCree. “I know it’s scary, isn't it? But she’s nice, I promise. You greeted a gorilla—sorry, Winston. I don’t know why Mei’s so much scarier,” McCree teased.

Woofgang nudged his nose into McCree’s thigh before peeking around his leg at Mei. At McCree’s quiet instruction, she held out her hand, knuckles first, and didn’t move. His nose twitched and he leaned around McCree’s leg. When he caught the scent of the treat in her hand, Woofgang looked up at McCree with a betrayed look.

“It wasn’t me!” McCree protested with a laugh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Here you go,” Mei said quietly, turning her hand around and opening it to show the treat in her palm. “He told us that you like these and we thought…well, we made sure to order some. Just in case.”

Woofgang’s nose twitched as Angela began to scold that Mei might lose her fingers if she kept them out like that. He edged out from behind McCree and stretched out his neck as far as it could go and whined.

Very carefully, aware that everyone was holding their breaths, Mei edged forward. Her hand and smile trembled. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know I’m scary. I can put the treat down.”

The dog huffed, sneezed, and took two big steps forward as if his previous fear hadn’t existed. He sniffed at Mei’s fingers, her palm, her wrist; Mei giggled as his whiskers tickled her skin but did her best to hold her hand still.

Then Woofgang very delicately took the treat from her hand, backed up to McCree, and only when he was once more between Woofgang and Mei did he eat it.

Mei clapped her hands excitedly as McCree scratched Woofgang’s ruff and told him what a good boy he was.

“I’m gonna take him around,” McCree said. “Then we can try to introduce everyone else.”

“Put him on a leash,” Angela scolded and he rolled his eyes.

Woofgang held still for the lead but watched the doctor with amber eyes as if aware that it was because of her. He watched her until they were out of view and she shook her head.

* * *

It took some time to get Woofgang used to their presence. He was skittish around everyone except McCree and Reinhardt, but that could be because they spoiled him rotten.

Shortly after arriving on base, Angela went with McCree to take him to the vet to get a full checkup. They didn’t talk about the horrified look on Woofgang’s very expressive face through it all but reassured him by visiting a steakhouse for lunch and ordering a ribeye just for him.

On the plus side, Woofgang was unusually healthy for being a stray and there were no issues with parasites or other canine illnesses. And he was a good boy, which they told him often. Enough that he was nearly prancing when they made it back to the base.

He warmed up to Mei first and after they wrestled him for a very messy Bath Time in one of the communal showers that nobody wants to talk about, it was common to see them curled up on the couch together. Lena still made him nervous and when she Blinked near him one too many times, they learned that his barks were _loud_.

Perhaps it was because of the Vet Incident, but Woofgang didn’t quite warm to Angela. He was friendly enough and let her pet and brush him, but only if nobody else was around.

Brigitte’s cats hated him but aside from that one terrible meeting when whatever cat it was scratched his nose, Woofgang seemed content to not go near them, just as they all pretended that he didn’t exist.

More than once, he saved McCree from terrible nightmares, lying bodily over him and nudging his cold nose into his throat. The first few times, McCree nearly killed the poor thing and the only reason he didn’t was because Woofgang had pinned him well enough that he took more than a few seconds to free his arms.

After that, it became common enough for McCree to wake up to a warm body and a cold nose nudging his face. Woofgang, unlike many, didn’t ask and made low little _whuff_ noises as McCree clung to him with a grip that must be painful.

When he was done, Woofgang would gently clean his face. He probably was just chasing the salt in McCree’s tears, but it always made McCree smile and hug him close.

Slowly but surely, the dark circles under everyone’s eyes began to fade away.

Woofgang did have his favorites though. He would only beg food from McCree or Reinhardt because he could get away with a lot and they always gave him the largest portions. McCree and Mei were the only ones that could brush him—or rather, they were the only ones that he would hold still for when they had a brush in their hands.

He loved going on runs with Lena and then cooling down with a long walk with McCree, who would also throw sticks for him to fetch to burn off the rest of his energy. Zenyatta also did this, and though he was wary around the omnic, if offered a game of fetch, Woofgang conveniently forgot this.

Naptimes were best spent with Mei, Hana, or Brigitte, but bedtime was always—always—at the foot of McCree’s bed. (In truth he lay beside McCree because he was too damn big to fit over the foot of the bed and stretched out, he was more or less people-sized.)

As time passed, he still remained skittish and they learned to work around it. The most heartbreaking was when he would whine high in his throat whenever someone pet him. How he’d close his eyes and lean into the touch with a joy that bordered on painful.

No matter how reluctant anyone was to have a dog on base, nobody could resist giving him all of the love and attention that those sad eyes seemed to beg for.

(Even if Lena and Brigitte liked to jokingly call him Smelly Doggo.)

He was also terrifyingly intelligent and remarkably well-trained. They kept him from the field, but he sometimes joined training simulations and was disturbingly efficient. McCree guessed that he was some kind of working dog—military or police—based on the way he moved and the way he always went for the throat.

It was rare that he made any kind of noise but when he did, it was loud, as befitting a dog of his size. In addition to being called “Smelly Doggo” (however jokingly), he was also—in the most loving way—sometimes called “you dirty ass snitch”.

Sometimes he would get it into his head to patrol the hallways and if he thought that Mei or Angela or Torbjörn or Brigitte were working too hard or too long, or if he thought that Winston had eaten enough peanut butter, he would bark.

Loudly.

Usually he would stop quickly, as whoever he was barking at stopped what they were doing to quiet him. (Or, in Winston’s case, bribe him with peanut butter.)

So, hearing him start to bark in the pre-dawn hours was not the most unusual.

When he didn’t stop barking and when it grew in volume and aggression, everyone was on alert. Woofgang howled and McCree wrenched open his door just in time to see someone dressed in black hit the deck, a silver-edged shadow on their chest; a moment later the man fell still, his simple black neckband no match for Woofgang’s teeth.

His fur was already tinged with red, his silvery beard and face soaked in it. Woofgang gave him a wild look and howled.

McCree let Woofgang into his room and dressed quickly, shoving his comms in his ear and alerting everyone that the base was under attack. As soon as he opened the door, Woofgang was off like a shot, disappearing into the darkness and McCree couldn’t let himself be worried for him.

He encountered a knot of hostiles near Mei’s room and took out two before they realized he was there. By then she was awake and armed enough to freeze the rest. Nodding to her, they both ran down the hallways, following Woofgang’s booming barks and the sound of combat.

It was over quickly, with fewer injuries than McCree would have expected, and they gathered in the kitchen to regroup. None of them commented that they could no longer hear Woofgang and as soon as he was able to get someone to go with him—he didn’t dare go anywhere alone just yet—McCree went looking for him. 

They didn’t speak the entire way but all of them had the same thought: please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.

As they approached the central hub of the base, Winston spoke into their ears: Athena had been temporarily shut down. Most likely that was how the unknown operatives had been able to sneak up on them while they slept.

“I don’t like this,” McCree said quietly. “We best head to the server room, then.”

Lena looked at him, her eyes wide. Neither of them liked the thought of leaving Woofgang, but the servers—and bringing Athena back online—were more important.

They picked their way along eerily silent buildings. There should have been the sound of nature as birds and insects woke to start the day but instead there was quiet. Around now, Woofgang and Lena would be getting ready for their morning run and McCree would be rolling out of bed because Woofgang insisted on him at least being awake at this ungodly hour.

Instead, McCree and Lena crept along silent buildings, thoroughly checking their corners as they approached the main hub.

McCree was the one to find the first booby trap and he knelt, heart in his throat, as he went to disable it…only to find that it had already been done.

Curious.

Lena found the next and they both nearly walked into the third—would have if it hadn’t also been disabled already.

“Found three booby traps near the main hub,” McCree said into his comm. “Anyone been by this way?”

“Only the main dorms,” Zenyatta replied. “Were you able to disarm them?”

Lena and McCree exchanged glances. “Yeah,” McCree lied. “They’re all good. Keep an eye out for more.”

“Who would have disarmed them?” Lena whispered. McCree shook his head and they continued on. Around the corner they found a pile of bodies, all dressed in black. There were marks on the ground where someone had dragged them aside and bloody pawprints—their first sign of Woofgang.

“Why would he be here?” McCree asked, kneeling beside one of the pawprints. Since he doubted that the hostiles had brought a dog whose paws were bigger than his hands, it had to be Woofgang.

Their comms rang and they both froze. “Good job,” Winston said. “Athena’s back online. She’s booting up now.”

“Were you able to get to her?” Lena asked and they both looked at each other, hopeful to be able to look for Woofgang.

There was an awkward silence on the other end. “No,” Winston said. “Didn’t you?”

They exchanged looks. “We’ll get back to you,” McCree told him.

“I don’t like this,” Lena whispered. They continued on.

They found two more bodies. One had a sapper in his hand, the other a portable scanner. Both pieces of equipment had been crushed, along with the hands holding them. Despite the blood coating them and the ruined mess of their hands, McCree realized that very little of the blood was theirs.

Their necks had been snapped.

Very carefully, he knelt beside the one with the sapper and touched the black fabric bunched around her neck. There was no blood and no bite marks. No bruising.

Woofgang hadn’t done this, but he certainly had bitten their hands to hell. He checked the ruined mass of flesh just to be sure.

He explained his findings over the comms while Lena shook her head, a grim look on her face. “I don’t like this,” she said to McCree when he was done.

“Join the club,” he muttered. “Come on.”

They found Woofgang outside the server room, the sprawl of his body making it clear that he had been guarding the door. There were three more bodies around him and his thick grey fur was splattered with blood.

For a terrifying moment McCree thought that he was dead but then he lifted his head slightly and whined. He nearly dropped all common sense and raced to the dog’s side but was sure to check his corners, check for snipers and more traps, before kneeling beside him.

One of his hind legs was clearly broken, and McCree gritted his teeth. He’d seen a lot of broken bones in his time but somehow it was worse to now that now it was Woofgang’s.

The dog was bleeding from a wound on his side, what looked like a bullet graze, and from a slash down the center of his chest, as if someone had lifted a knife to defend themselves. His entire face was bloody.

Distantly he was aware that Lena was calling in Woofgang’s location and injuries. With shaking hands, he pet the dog along his head and ears the way he liked it. “Good boy,” he whispered, relief making his voice tremble. Woofgang’s tail thumped the ground.

There were still unanswered questions.

The sapper would have temporarily put Athena out of commission, but only in a localized zone. He would bet that all of the hostiles had a similar device on them. A larger pulse, like a pulse similar to what the Sombra Collective used, would also do well to put Athena out of the fight—and if the feedback was too large, she wouldn’t come back on automatically.

He needed to go inside, because he doubted the woman’s sapper had been strong enough to put her out like this—and she’d been too far away.

“I’m going to check the server room,” McCree told Lena. “Stay with him.”

Without waiting for an answer, he keyed in the override and stepped inside. There was another body in the server room and some of the wiring was sparking—hopefully nothing too important or too difficult to fix.

He checked the body and found that the man’s neck had been broken. And again, there were no bite marks.

But there was blood on the keys near the power console.

And there was blood on the floor—blood and footprints.

Quickly, he stepped over the foot- and pawprints to obscure them and wiped some of the blood off the keys. For now, he needed to get Woofgang to Ange.

Then they could ask questions. 

* * *

With Reinhardt’s help, they got Woofgang into Medical, though he whined and moaned each time he was jostled. 

“Stay,” Angela told McCree sternly as she gestured for Reinhardt to leave. “I’ll need your help.” 

“With what?” McCree asked, alarmed. 

Angela gestured and McCree turned back around to find that Woofgang wasn’t...well, he wasn’t a _dog_ anymore. 

He was a man. A scruffy man with yakuza tattoos of swirling blue dragons. Or maybe they were fish. It was hard to tell. 

“With _him_ ,” Angela told him. 

McCree looked back and forth between Angela and the man. “He’s a were?” McCree demanded. “How long have you known?”

“Since the vet,” Angela replied. “Come on. He needs help.”

Questions later, McCree reminded him. For now, he needed to help Woofgang. Gritting his teeth, he stepped closer and tried not to think about betrayal.


	2. Chapter 2

McCree watched the strange man as he slept. It was creepy, but so was letting everyone think you were a dog for fucking weeks.

Then again, he realized that he could see the signs that he had simply overlooked. Woofgang was far too clever for a mere dog, even a very well-trained one. Whenever McCree had undressed in the room they shared, Woofgang had looked away as if giving him a sense of human privacy.

“Your staring won’t make him wake up any faster,” Ange commented as she came in to check the machines. McCree could have done so, but she apparently didn’t trust him to do something that simple.

It was just his hurt at Woofgang’s betrayal that made him think that, so he said nothing, rolling his unlit cigar in his mouth. 

“How long have you known?” he asked instead.

“Since the visit to the vet,” she said absently. She consulted the chart and scribbled something down. The light on the clipboard blinked red once, twice, and then turned green as the data was updated in Athena’s servers. “He wasn’t hurting anyone so I didn’t say anything.”

McCree considered that. “How?” he demanded.

“How did I know?” she asked as she put the clipboard back in its place at the foot of the man’s bed. The blankets around one of his legs bulged with the brace that would keep the bone in place while the nanites did their job of healing it. “The bloodwork.”

He thought back to the vet tech coming back to ask to speak to Ange in the back. Woofgang had watched the door, his ears twisted back unhappily and instead of trying to listen in on the conversation, McCree had tried to distract the dog. Knowing what he knew now, he guessed that Woofgang had been listening to the vet telling Ange that he wasn’t a dog.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.

“He wasn’t doing any harm,” Ange replied and sank into the plastic hospital chair next to McCree’s. “And when I came back into the room with you two, he looked so scared. Sometimes a little kindness can go a long way. Imagine what could have happened if I told on him—would we still be here?”

McCree considered that unhappily. It was true that it was only because of Woofgang that they were aware of anything amiss on campus. Whoever had attacked—most likely Talon—had gone for Athena first. If Woofgang hadn’t started howling, they never would have realized that there was anything wrong; if Woofgang hadn’t guarded the server room after waking them, they might not have been able to bring Athena back.

“Go easy on him,” Ange suggested. “He’s hurting.”

“You’ve talked to him?” McCree asked.

She nodded. “You know how he does his patrols at night?”

Another very un-dog-like thing to do, McCree reflected. He had just figured that Woofgang was antsy and wanted to check in on his “pack”.

“A few nights after we came back from the vet, he visited me. I guess he was waiting for me to tell on him.” With a tired sigh, she leaned her head on McCree’s shoulder. “Hold still,” she scolded when he shifted uncomfortably. “If you’re going to sit here like a rock, you may as well be useful. I’m tired.”

McCree obeyed, sitting stiff and awkward in the chair while Ange seemed ready to fall asleep on his shoulder. He never knew what she did those nights she stayed up late, but apparently last night had been one of them. Normally she’d sleep past noon but her entire morning had been spent on Woofgang.

“What did he say?” McCree asked.

“Nothing at first,” Ange admitted. “I think he was waiting to see what I’d do. But then I told him to come in and lock the door behind him and he did. I asked if I could speak to him for a moment and promised doctor-patient confidentiality.” He could feel her cheek move but didn’t know if she was smiling or frowning. “He wasn’t sure if he should believe me. I don’t blame him. But we talked and after I promised to go to bed, he changed back and left.”

McCree made a face, knowing that it wasn’t any use asking her what had gone on during that talk.

“She asked me what my intentions were,” a rough, unfamiliar voice said.

McCree jumped and turned toward the bed. Woofgang—or the man that they called Woofgang—was awake, his eyes half-open as he watched the two of them. “I ought to ask the same,” McCree said tightly.

The man laughed and winced. Ange immediately got to her feet and began fussing over him. “I am fine, Dr. Ziegler.”

“You are not,” she told him. “And I would know. You need an hour more in that field before you can attempt a shift.” He made a face and McCree fought to hide a smile. Ange’s ability to read a person’s mind was unnerving even if you were used to it.

McCree cleared his throat and the man looked over at him. He was unfairly handsome, McCree thought grudgingly. Even with his unkempt beard and tangled hair. But he supposed that hair still grew and if the man wasn’t able to change back and take care of himself, then perhaps it made sense for him to look a bit…wild.

The man had dark eyes that could be either grey or brown; it almost seemed as if, somehow, they were both. His shoulders were broader than McCree’s though by his estimate he was shorter. Both arms were ripped, nearly as large as Zarya’s, and he wondered if this man was a bodybuilder as well.

“Do you have a name?” McCree asked. All of the questions he had wanted to ask suddenly fled beneath the man’s hard stare. As a dog, his eyes were softer, but dogs didn’t need to feel suspicion or fear.

“I do.”

Ange snorted as she fussed over the man’s sheets. “Play nice,” she said, flicking the man’s nose as if he were still a dog.

The man made a face. “You may call me Han.”

From the way the sound was bitten-off, it sounded as if it were only a part of his name. That was sufficient at least. “What are you doing here, Han?”

“You brought me here,” Han said with a mischievous little smile.

McCree made a face. “That was before I knew you were human.”

“A were,” Han corrected, that mischievous little smile still in place. “Not quite human. Not quite dog.”

He ignored that. “Let me rephrase,” McCree said dryly. “Why did you stay here?”

“Don’t mind him,” Ange told Han. “He’s just cranky that he didn’t notice sooner.”

“I endeavored to make sure he wouldn’t,” Han told her. “It was bad enough that you knew.”

“And it’s a good thing,” Ange scolded. “What did you do to break your leg?”

Han made a face. “I slipped,” he admitted. “I was trying to get some height, get a good vantage point but I slipped and fell.”

“No wonder the leg was so mangled,” Ange said crisply. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to shift on an injury?”

“I could hardly do anything else,” Han replied coolly. “What use is a naked human with a broken leg? At least in my other form I could move better and I could still defend the server room.” He sighed. “Clearly, I don’t have anything in terms of payment on me at the moment, but once I reach one of my supply caches, I can arrange to compensate you for the treatment. And, I suppose, all of the supplies you’ve wasted on me.”

Ange snorted. “Nonsense,” she said. “A dog could hardly be expected to pay for his own vet bills. Especially a working military dog.”

“I could hardly stay here,” Han pointed out and there was a strange kind of tone in his voice that McCree couldn’t place. Han’s eyes flicked toward him and then back to Ange’s.

It was fear, McCree realized. Or something like it. He remembered that feeling back in Blackwatch—the fear that the good situation he had found himself in would be taken away. Not the fear of death because he knew that all men died, but the fear of what would happen next if he failed. Would he be killed? Sent back to the Deadlock Gang so that they could exact their justice on him? Sent to jail to rot?

He didn’t know what had happened to Han before he was “adopted” by them or what kind of life he may have led. From the scars visible on his skin, it wasn’t an easy life; from the way that Han in the form of Woofgang had always whined as if unable to help it whenever they pet him, he was alone for a long time.

To Han, life with Overwatch was probably the best thing that’s happened to him in a while and now he was terrified of losing it.

McCree scrubbed a hand down his face. He should tell Winston. He risked another glance at Han whose gaze was already stiffening, as if preparing himself for rejection. “Relax,” he said gruffly, though it almost felt as if he was selling his soul to the devil. “I ain’t tellin’. You can still stay.”

“Why not?” Han demanded.

He recoiled when Ange flicked his nose again. “Don’t argue,” she scolded. “And keep your voice down.”

“You can’t let an unvetted were on your base!” Han hissed, voice lower. He twisted his head when Ange moved to flick his nose again.

McCree shrugged. His contrary nature was kicking in and he grinned easily at Han. “We’re not,” he said reasonably. “But a dog like Woofgang is hardly unvetted, is he?”

“Discussion is over,” Ange said crisply. “You, Mister, need to rest; and you—” she jabbed a finger at McCree. “—may let everyone know that Woofgang will be fine and is resting. Come back in half an hour to pick him up.”

Han had an almost betrayed look on his face that McCree found adorable. Hiding a laugh at his expense, McCree got to his feet with a groan. “You’ll learn,” he told Han. “You don’t argue with Ange.”

“It seems like you do it all the time,” Han said dryly and McCree cut a glance back at him to find that mischievous smile back in place.

McCree winked at him as he began walking toward the door. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Only if I get a treat.”

McCree laughed as he left the recovery rooms and moved toward the waiting rooms. Their small team was clustered there, most still sweaty and grimy as they waited for news about Woofgang. Seeing the worried looks on all of their faces, he knew that he made the right decision.

“He’ll be fine,” he assured them and they all heaved sighs of relief almost in unison. “Ange is finishing up with him. His leg was pretty badly broken so he’ll be favoring it for a while.”

“Once he’s done, he’ll be hungry,” Mei noted. “I know I’m always hungry after working with Dr. Ziegler.”

Lena coughed into her hand. “Thirsty, more like.”

“Then I shall make a victory meal,” Brigitte exclaimed before Reinhardt could. The look of betrayal on his face was priceless and covered up the way that Mei blushed bright red and hid her face beneath Lena’s good-natured teasing. “Of course, you can help.”

The two of them stood and began walking toward the kitchens. “It’s good to know that he’ll be fine,” Lena said. “When will she release him?”

“She told me to come back in half an hour,” McCree replied. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m all for a shower.” He had been too distracted by Woofgang and Han that he hadn’t even changed out of his blood-soaked clothes.

Mei nodded and yawned widely. “I’m going to take a shower and then go to bed, but I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Join us in the common room,” Lena suggested as she surveyed her own bloody clothes with a grimace. “We’ll put on a movie and fall asleep in a pile.” Mei nodded and walked away with a shy wave.

As McCree walked back toward his room, he considered the Woofgang Conundrum, as he was beginning to call it. You were vulnerable before your pet; how much did Han know about them? How many secrets did he hold as people whispered to his serene, grizzled face?

Han was right—it was unsafe to have an unknown party on base. As a dog, Woofgang was dangerous but he couldn’t speak to give away classified information; as a man, Han might. What could be leveraged against him? What could bribe him to do so?

Sighing, McCree walked into his room and surveyed it, his hands on his hips. Woofgang had a doggie bed next to his cot but more often than not, they slept next to each other. He was as good as heavy duvet and in the cool night air, it was pleasant to have a warm body next to him to fight the chill.

And, despite him being unusually prudish (for a dog) and looking away whenever McCree changed, he was very sure that Woofgang had seen him naked. Who else had he seen naked? Though he had only spoken to Han for a short while, he didn’t strike McCree as the Peeping Tom kind of person, to go around looking for naked people to stare at.

At the same time, people always let their guards down around animals. What had he seen? What had he heard?

He certainly knew of McCree’s…relaxation techniques. How many times had Woofgang come back from his nightly patrol to sniff the air and give McCree a reproachful look?

As McCree peeled off his dirty clothes and climbed in the shower, he realized that he had just signed himself up for a roommate and made a face.

* * *

Woofgang watched him uneasily from the bed as he entered, his head lowered slightly. His tail gave a hesitant wag when Ange scratched his ears, but his eyes were on McCree.

“You need a bath,” McCree informed him. “And we need to find you a new collar. We can look at that later tonight.” He tapped his hip. “Come.”

Now that he knew that Woofgang wasn’t really a dog, he could recognize that Han rolled his eyes before standing and trotting stiffly over. He reached down, offering his palm to Woofgang who considered it for a long moment. Then, glancing back up at McCree, he nudged it with his nose and settled into his usual place at McCree’s right.

“Rein and Brigitte have been making a victory meal in the kitchen,” he told Woofgang as he turned and began walking out. After a moment of hesitation, Woofgang followed at his heel. “And everyone’s happy to hear that you’re alright so expect a lot of hugs.”

He looked at Woofgang as they walked. He was favoring his healed leg slightly. It was probably tender and the muscles stiff and McCree reached down to pet Woofgang’s head. Beneath his hand, he could feel Woofgang jerk in surprise before giving a gusty sigh and leaning his head into the touch.

As predicted, there was much fanfare to Woofgang’s return. Reinhardt made him an enormous plate of food and he looked like he was in doggy heaven. Mei and Lena gave him belly rubs within an inch of his life and Woofgang wiggled gleefully beneath their hands.

“What’s on your mind?” Brigitte asked McCree quietly as he watched them interact. Mei wrapped her arms around Woofgang’s neck and was hugging him tightly, her face buried in his fur.

He shook his head. Woofgang’s fur must not smell the best—a combination of medical antiseptic, old blood, and sweat—but Mei still clung to him. He was sniffing and nosing her hair, her cheeks, her shoulders, his tail wagging. McCree watched as he lifted a big paw and wrapped it around Mei as if hugging her back.

“I was just thinking about what might have happened if he hadn’t been here,” McCree said honestly. “Even if anyone protested him now, you gotta admit that he’s earned his place here.”

One of Woofgang’s ears ticked back toward them as Brigitte chuckled. “More than,” she agreed.

* * *

McCree watched Woofgang consider the bed before curling up on the doggie bed. “You seemed to like the bed before,” he observed. “Why stop now?”

Woofgang gave him a very human look, one brow raised. He gave a very quiet boof.

“I mean,” McCree said, lying down on his back and looking up at the ceiling. “My sheets will smell less like dog now, if you decide to actually use the bed we got you.”

Woofgang sneezed and McCree thought that it might be a laugh. Han had seemed to have a quirky sense of humor.

“Or, if you want to sleep as a human…” he trailed off. “I can give you an extra set of clothes and we can figure out sleeping arrangements.”

He grunted, the sound ending in a wheeze when Woofgang hoped up on the bed and landed with both paws on his stomach. Despite knowing that he had shifted his weight so that it didn’t land completely on him, McCree was still winded.

In his distraction, Woofgang settled on the bed, stretching out on his belly and taking up more than his half of the bed.

“Whoa,” McCree said in a strangled croak. “None of that now.” Woofgang gave him a sidelong glance that almost looked like a smile. “You ass.”

Woofgang gave a very small huff and wagged his tail hesitantly.

“You are,” McCree told him severely, but he was smiling. “You’re the worst.”

Very suddenly, Woofgang was in his face, his nose very close to McCree’s. McCree had half a second to feel moderately alarmed—this was no animal; this was a were and not 24 hours had gone since he had killed people. He opened his mouth to apologize, say something to defuse the situation, when Woofgang sneezed in his face.

Howling, McCree scrambled away, scrubbing his face with both hands and coughing. Woofgang began wheezing in a laugh. Swearing at Woofgang in every language he knew, McCree ducked into the bathroom—a luxury he had only because he had stolen one of the former officers’ quarters—to wash his face and brush his teeth again.

When he ducked back out, he found Han in bed, asleep.

Asleep and unabashedly naked.

Though it was beyond creepy, McCree froze and stared. Ange had warned him that weres reverted to their primary form when relaxed or very deeply asleep. For a moment McCree was confused why Han might find himself comfortable enough to revert back before remembering his injured leg. Most likely he was still exhausted from Ange’s healing.

Shaking his head, McCree took off his prosthesis and eased himself into bed.

* * *

He woke up in the middle of the night to big arms around his waist and a face buried in the back of his neck. Han was shivering and McCree adjusted the blankets to cover him too before he closed his eyes and fell asleep again.

* * *

There was something digging into his back.

McCree tried not to think about it.

He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

* * *

Woofgang nudged him awake as he always did for morning runs and McCree groaned as he sat up. “I’m awake,” he complained and Woofgang sneezed as if to say, yeah right. “Shut up.”

He got to his feet, pulled on his prosthesis, and shuffled to the shower. Woofgang could let himself out for his morning run with Lena.

Dripping water from his shower, McCree found Woofgang still waiting by the door, a very unamused look on his face. “Fine,” he complained and keyed open the door.

Woofgang gave him a quiet boof that may have been either _thanks_ or _fuck you_ and trotted out the door. Down the hall, he could hear Lena exclaim, “There you are, Woofgang! I was wondering where you were!”

Muttering to himself about smartass weres, he dried off and got dressed. He stopped by the kitchen and got a cup of coffee and an apple to eat on the patio while he waited for Lena and Woofgang to finish their morning run.

He was just finishing an interesting article by Morricone about the return of Null Sector in Europe when he heard paws on the concrete of the patio. Woofgang, his tongue lolling out of his panting mouth, gave a quiet _whuff_ when he saw that McCree was looking at him.

“Now I can see why Lena calls you a smelly doggo,” McCree told him as he walked over and patted Woofgang’s head. “It’s because you’re an ass.”

Woofgang sneezed as if to say, _I'm rubber, you're glue_ and began walking along the path they typically took for their morning walks.

Despite his complaining of the early hour, he did enjoy their walks. Woofgang took them along the running path that he and Lena used to and McCree took the moment, as he always did, to look around and appreciate the scenery.

Then came breakfast, provided by Brigitte this morning. Woofgang got a steak, much to his obvious delight, and McCree was thrilled that she remembered how to make Morrison’s tater tot hot dish.

He was even more amused to see Soldier: 76 visibly grinding his teeth when she added sauerkraut and currywurst to hers.

Done with his steak, Woofgang made begging eyes at Reinhardt and was rewarded by more food from the giant who cooed and blew kisses at him as he ate his stolen meal. Then Woofgang nudged his big head into Mei’s lap as she began curling in on herself, forcing her to sit up to accommodate him.

Seeing the soft smile on Mei’s face as she scratched Woofgang’s scraggly face, McCree found himself smiling as well. He was glad that he hadn’t told on Han, he decided. At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! I had a lot of fun writing writing this. 
> 
> Feel free to come and find me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you!
> 
> ~DC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han is bored. He has an idea how to pass the time while also being a little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was written as the opening to another, with a fade-to-black cutscene for the sexy times. 
> 
> And then someone goaded me into writing the sex scene and it became a whole chapter by itself.

One of the major changes following the base attack was that Woofgang was brought into team simulations.

While nobody wanted to put him in danger, it was very clear that he was able to take care of himself—and wasn’t unfamiliar with combat, even when his opponents were armed. McCree worked with Woofgang—in both forms—to figure out signals to use as if he were truly ordering Woofgang, and mocked up enough “training sessions” as if McCree really were training him to take those commands.

“You know an enormous amount about how to train dogs,” McCree commented offhandedly one night. Han was stretched out on their bed (when had his bed become _theirs?_ ) dressed in nothing but a pair of ill-fitting boxers. 

They were resting after a long day of simulations and team strategy meetings. Normally McCree enjoyed such things but sometimes it was too much and he needed to be alone. That meant that he would need to retreat to the only quiet place he had left: his room.

To his surprise, Woofgang had followed and Han seemed eager to get away from the team as well. Though well-meaning, their team was very clingy, unwilling to let anyone remain unsupervised in some way. To be fair, they were likely concerned that McCree would leave them, but he wished that they would understand that he was unlikely to leave Woofgang behind.

Turning away from Han, McCree made a face. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He would leave everyone behind at the drop of a hat—had in his Blackwatch days—but something in him twisted when he even thought about leaving Woofgang and Han behind.

Perhaps it was in the way that Woofgang’s wary eyes softened when he saw McCree, the way his eyes closed as he leaned into McCree’s touch. Maybe it was the way that Han very obviously relaxed around him, baring neck and belly as he lay back, smiling ever so slightly at McCree in the mornings—if he was in his human form, of course. More often than not he wasn’t but that smile was somehow still there.

It had only been a few weeks since the revelation of Woofgang and Han’s dual nature but here he was, already feeling the tide drawing him in. He thought—told himself quite adamantly—that it was simply a product of loneliness. There was a kind of understanding in Woofgang and Han’s eyes. He knew loneliness, that addictive need to be closer to someone.

He was fairly certain after a week or two that Han was occasionally trying to seduce him. It was the only explanation for Woofgang “mysteriously” changing back in the middle of the night, why McCree occasionally woke up with a very naked man in his arms.

Han stretched, muscles rippling beneath his skin. He was unfairly attractive, almost no body fat on him despite being close to McCree’s age by his estimate. A part of McCree was jealous, given that his own body was beginning to give way to age, but most of him was very appreciative of the view. It was always a struggle to not ogle Han, who would most likely mercilessly tease McCree—or openly offer something that McCree knew he wouldn’t be able to turn down.

“I used to work with such dogs,” Han admitted absently, rolling on his stomach and propping his upper body up with his forearms. It made his back arch, the muscles in his enormous shoulders stand out with greater definition. “I didn’t train them myself, but I operated with dogs that already knew such commands.”

“How does that work?” McCree asked curiously. “Can you talk to dogs?”

He hoped that his face didn’t betray anything when Han twisted to look back at McCree. “Can I talk to dogs?” he echoed, something like a smile on his face. It looked more like a grimace, but McCree could relate. After living alone for so long, it had taken him a while to remember how to properly smile again.

“When you say it like that, it sounds stupid,” McCree muttered a bit petulantly.

Han chuckled. “Dogs don’t speak in a language like humans,” he explained. “And in any case, I am a were, raised by weres, to blend into human society. I would not have any role models to learn such language if one—or more—were to exist.”

“Do they know something’s…’wrong’?” McCree wanted to know.

Han sat up, leaning against the headboard, and McCree tried very hard to keep his eyes on Han’s face. “They sense something,” Han told him thoughtfully. He crossed his legs at the ankle.

Perhaps McCree had been wrong all along—perhaps it had been only wishful thinking that Han was trying to seduce him. Or maybe he really was, pointing his toes and flexing the muscles of his short legs. While they weren’t as defined as the muscles of his arms, they were still enough to make McCree’s mouth dry.

“They react to it according to their natures,” Han continued, seemingly unaware of McCree’s distraction. “But they do know that I’m not quite human.”

How Han could act as if nothing was happening was beyond McCree. Maybe McCree really was going crazy. Was it possible to age backwards? Because that was the only explanation why he was acting like a teenager that got stiff with the breeze.

More likely it was because his “private time” was seriously curtailed with Han’s presence, either in his human form or as Woofgang. It had him grasping at straws but he didn’t know how to ask for it without sounding like an ass—or admitting exactly what he intended to do while Han was gone.

Even worse, if he lied, Woofgang would still be able to smell it. Han didn’t even need his voice to mock him—a simple look as Woofgang would be sufficient.

(And when had he become so _prudish?_ )

McCree realized that Han was watching him, the barest hint of a smiling curling his lips. “What?” he asked a little defensively.

“You used to be black ops, did you not?” Han asked. “ _A spy?_ ”

Realizing that he was being teased, McCree scowled. “What are you saying?” He didn’t bother denying it, but he wouldn’t outright confirm it either.

Han slid down the bed and stretched with his arms over his head. His body bowed smoothly, his legs splayed. It made the hem of his boxers ride up, revealing more skin and the hard line of his cock, which lay in the curve of his hip and was beginning to thicken. “When will you take the hint?” he asked, a mocking smile on his lips. “I’m _bored._ ”

Well.

McCree was only human, after all.

When McCree approached, climbed in bed with Han, he was drawn into a kiss, brought to straddle Han’s ridiculously sculpted belly. Han kissed like he fought, rough and wild and overwhelming. His kisses were full of teeth that caught at McCree’s lips, clicked against his own. 

Suddenly he was forced over, pushed on his back and Han was the one straddling him, pinning him down with his strong arms. Feeling how easily he was pinned down by a man whose grin was as wild and hungry as his canine form, McCree shuddered. 

It had been years, sure, since he had been with another person. Sexually. Truthfully, he could barely remember who they were, or what even they did. It had been subpar at best and likely stained by thoughts and memories that McCree hadn’t wanted, along with a healthily-growing paranoia. 

With such a bounty on his head, it had been hard to be vulnerable like this. He supposed that it might be ironic that the safest he felt now was pinned to the bed beneath a stranger whose full name he didn’t know, who had infiltrated the newly recalled Overwatch in the form of a dog. 

And, he realized, who he wanted to fuck him into the mattress. 

Han leaned down over McCree with a smug grin. “What’s the matter?” he mocked, just the right kind of mean that McCree didn’t know he was craving. “Hasn’t anyone held you down like this?”

McCree couldn’t answer because Han stole the words from his lips, giving him another of those rough, biting kisses. In an hour his lips would be red and swollen. They would ache and every time he spoke or ate or drank, he would think of Han holding him down. 

He could see this quickly becoming a problem. 

But he had never been one to take things lying down and McCree tried to roll them over. He grunted when Han rolled with him and instead landed back on McCree’s hips once more. 

“Want to try again?” Han mocked. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

McCree scowled and hoped that his interest wasn’t too obvious. “Do you think I’ll just roll over for anyone? Think again, sugar tits.” 

Han laughed, baring teeth that seemed too sharp to be human. He pinned McCree’s hands in one of his—something that McCree could probably break with the help of his prosthesis but was pretty sure couldn’t, given the angle of their arms—and palmed at McCree’s chest. “You call _me_ ‘sugar tits’?” he asked, still flashing those too-sharp teeth. 

“It’s all muscle,” McCree snapped. 

“It is,” Han agreed, to his surprise. His voice was a throaty purr that _did things_ to McCree’s libido. “I see how much you work out.” 

Then Han reached down to the collar of McCree’s old cotton tee. Time had faded the red to a dull pink color and the words had faded with many washings, but they were still legible: “BUST A NUT IN MY COWBOY BUTT”. 

McCree stared up at Han as he very deliberately took his time to read the shirt. “Is that an invitation?” Han asked. He didn’t wait for a response—his shoulders and muscles flexed and the worn shirt ripped cleanly in two. 

“Hey!” McCree protested. 

“It was a hideous shirt,” Han said smugly. “It did you no favors. Besides—it looks better on the floor.” He palmed McCree’s chest, his calluses rasping deliciously against McCree’s chest hair. 

McCree rolled them both while Han laughed, making it very clear that they shifted only because he allowed them to. Gods, McCree didn’t realize that he had a meanness and competency kink as well. 

“You’ll regret that,” McCree warned, struggling with Han’s loose boxers. The were’s legs were wrapped around his waist, making it impossible to pull down. McCree swore as Han laughed. 

Han rolled them again, moving them toward the center of the bed and somehow managed to pull his boxers off at the same time. They hung off of one knee, but the parts that mattered, that McCree had been trying for, were now revealed. 

His cock, still only half-hard, lay hot as a brand against McCree’s furry stomach and he couldn’t help but focus on that detail. He wanted to find some flaw, something to get back at Han for, but his brain damn near fizzled out at the first touch of another person. How long had it been? Already he felt overwhelmed, aroused beyond anything he had felt in recent years, just by Han sitting on his stomach with his boxers around one knee. 

He doubted this would last long.

Impatient, Han palmed at his chest, spreading his fingers wide to grip as much muscle and skin as he could. While McCree wasn’t as cut as Han, he was nothing to slouch at—had to be in great shape to live the life he did—and Han seemed to appreciate this. 

“What is the phrase?” Han asked, looking down his nose at McCree. “A ‘dead fish’?” Then he grinned. “I cannot imagine that you haven’t done this before, cowboy. Or are you a 40 year-old virgin?”

McCree scowled. “With an attitude like that I can imagine that you don’t get laid very often.” 

To his surprise, Han laughed, bracing his stupidly large arms over McCree’s shoulders, bringing his face close to McCree’s. “How can I?” he teased. “I’m a _dog_.” Han leaned back and ran his fingers over the edges of the torn shirt. “‘Bust a nut in my cowboy butt’,” he read, tracing his fingers along McCree’s chest. “I intend to.” 

He said it with such conviction that McCree was able to scrape together enough indignation to say, “You think I’m just going to _let_ you?” 

Han laughed and he reached behind him, meanly squeezing at the bulge in McCree’s pants. He wheezed, torn between bucking upwards into Han’s hand and trying to pull away from his painful grip. “You will,” Han said smugly. “I bet I can convince you.” 

“And why should I trust you?” McCree snapped. 

“You didn’t seem to have any complaints earlier,” Han replied, seemingly unbothered. “You climbed up here pretty fast for someone so ‘unconvinced’.” He leaned down suddenly. “I’ve seen your drawers, Jesse McCree. I’ve seen your _toys_ , your lube.” 

He didn’t know why he was surprised. Han spent a lot of time in McCree’s room. A lot of times he was unsupervised, even after McCree learned of his secret. His stomach dropped. 

“I promise, for what it’s worth,” Han said, leaning down, whispering deliciously in McCree’s ear. “All you’ll be able to do is moan and scream my name.” 

McCree bared his teeth up at the were. “You sound awful confident.”

He gasped, nearly made an embarrassing sound as Han’s sharp teeth pressed against his throat. They dragged along the tendons and Han paused to suck a dark mark beneath his jaw. “I know my skills,” Han said against his throat. “And I know you’re not opposed to it, or you wouldn’t let me this close to your throat.” 

Damn him, he was right. And the bastard knew it. Not that McCree had made it any big secret. 

Han took that as agreement, trailing his lips and sharp teeth down McCree’s chest, mouthing at the valley of his pecs. He didn’t seem _too_ upset that McCree wasn’t sensitive there, seemingly happy as he was before trailing down. Han’s lips sucked a mark on his belly just above the waistband of his jeans while Han’s fingers opened his button and zipper, easing them open and down McCree’s hips. 

McCree lifted his hips slightly, letting Han pull the rest of his clothes off. Then he yelled in surprise when Han returned suddenly, burying his face in McCree’s groin. 

“If you’re not quiet, someone will come by,” Han said. His breath sent shivers through McCree, made him want to squirm away from the way they brushed against his pubic hair. 

It made all kinds of things come to the forefront of his mind. He wished that he had shaved, or at least trimmed—nevermind that he had never done so in the past. But Han, after he had cleaned up, had looks that could kill—looked like the kind of person that would expect his partners to be hairless. 

But Han seemed happy enough with the nest of hair, mouthing at the base of McCree’s cock. His breath tickled, making the curly hairs brush teasingly against McCree’s own skin and he shuddered. 

Teasing aside, it _had_ been so long since anyone had touched him like this—so long, and in such different situations, that he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Didn’t know what to say. If he goaded Han, teased him that he seemed so enamored with cock, would that make him leave? He didn’t _think_ that Han would transform and bit his dick off (or something) but Han was a wildcard. 

Would he be upset if McCree buried his hands in his hair? If he tugged Han where he wanted him most? 

Just in case, McCree fisted his hands in the sheets and gritted his teeth, hoping that he wouldn’t come embarrassingly quick. 

Han’s lips found McCree’s cock and he bit back an embarrassing sound. His mouth and wicked tongue were hot, just the right combination of rough and soft. Then he pulled away and McCree gasped, eyes that he didn’t remember closing snapping open. 

“I didn’t expect you to be so quiet,” Han teased, licking his lips. “Or to lie so still below me.”

“And here I was thinking that you’d shut up with a dick in your mouth,” McCree snapped back. 

Han laughed. He backed up, pulling McCree’s pants and underwear with him so that he lay naked...except for the ripped shirt still caught around his shoulders. “You’d come too quickly,” Han said, digging in the drawers for McCree’s lube. “And there is more that I’d like to do with you.” He looked over at McCree and smirked. “Roll over.” 

“Hey now!” McCree protested halfheartedly. His cock twitched, giving him away. 

Smirking, Han stalked back to the bed. He drops the bottle next to McCree’s hip, leaning in for a biting kiss. “I doubt you have the... _flexibility_ for what I want to do to you,” he whispered huskily. “Get on your knees.” 

Years ago, Reyes once accused him of thinking too much with his dick. Turns out that he hasn’t changed much over the years because he rolled over to his hands and knees far quicker than he should, taking a moment to shuck the remains of his tattered shirt before settling down. 

The bed dipped as Han settled behind him, running his callused fingers all over his back and hips. 

For some reason, this was the time that Han decided to inform him, “You’re out of condoms.” When McCree opened his mouth to respond, intending to say something sharp about not exactly expecting a were to decide he wants to fuck him, Han split apart the globes of his ass and pressed a kiss to his hole. 

Instead of a smartass response, McCree _yelled_ , body jerking as if shocked. He heard Han laugh, the bastard, and felt his lips curl against his skin. A wet hand closed around McCree’s cock as a hot tongue probed against his hole, teasing and testing the give of the muscle. 

Tucking his head down and pressing his face into his own pillow, McCree cursed to himself. When Han had first proposed this...arrangement...he hadn’t expected _this_. Perhaps just a quick roll in the hay; not this. 

He wasn’t complaining, though. 

Han pulled back as McCree struggled to catch his breath. Peeking down beneath him, he caught sight of his own cock, hanging hot and dripping. Between his thighs he could see Han’s legs, the way his dick was hanging as well. 

He wanted it. 

“It’s a shame you’re out of condoms,” Han said almost conversationally as the lube bottle clicked. “And your lube is about to go bad. I recommend getting more.” 

McCree groaned at the touch of Han’s slicked fingers. They were thick, something that he hadn’t previously considered, and he somehow seemed to know exactly how to slide them into McCree, knew exactly where to press his fingers to make him shout. 

Han’s earlier observation that he probably wasn’t very flexible had been correct; fingering himself like this was difficult with his own fingers and toys didn’t bend and flex like Han’s did, teasing over and around his prostate. This kind of touch, paired with Han’s big hand on his tailbone, was a novel thing. 

“How long has it been?” Han asked as if he wasn’t driving McCree mad with one finger alone. “I can tell it’s been a while.” He pulled out his finger and returned with another, both freshly slicked with lube. 

For his part, McCree grunted and groaned into the pillow and hoped that none of the sounds he was making were too embarrassing. They probably were, but he hoped at least that Han wouldn’t lord it over him like the bastard he was. 

“It’s a shame that you don’t have any condoms,” Han continued though now McCree could hear him breathing harder. 

“Bastard,” McCree managed to gasp out. 

In response, Han twisted his thick fingers, pressing his fingertips into McCree’s prostate. “I assure you my parents were married,” he said with a mean, breathless laugh as McCree choked and cursed. 

McCree should have been embarrassed at the sound he made but it had been years. Han had not been wrong, despite being an ass about it. Sure he’d had his fun with his right hand and toys plenty of times but the touch of another person made all the difference in the world. 

He cursed breathlessly as Han pulled out his fingers, smearing lube along the insides of his thighs. Han’s touch was almost ticklish and he instinctively brought his legs together. 

“That’s the idea,” Han hissed, urging McCree’s thighs closer with wet hands. Something pressed against his hole, sliding in with embarrassing ease to press against his prostate. A textured nub pressed against his perineum and McCree’s eyes snapped open when he recognized his own toy. 

A moment later it clicked on and he howled, voice muffled by the pillow, as the prostate massager buzzed away.

Han eased him to his knees, pulling him back so McCree’s back was pressed against Han’s wide chest. He dug his nails roughly into McCree’s chest and belly as he arched, the new position and the movement to get there making the prostate massager shift and move inside him. 

“Oh God,” McCree choked as he felt Han’s cock press between his legs. 

He hissed when Han’s fingers pinched at his nipples. While he wasn’t _sensitive_ , the pinch still hurt. It made him clench tight around the toy, in turn making him arch his back. 

“My name is Han,” he was reminded. Han rocked his hips, drawing his cock between McCree’s thighs. He bit at the thick muscles of McCree’s shoulders, making him grunt. 

Han rocked his hips harder, drawing his fingers like claws over McCree’s chest. One hand drifted lower, leaving red marks over McCree’s hips and belly before softening as they reached his cock. 

“It’s a shame I couldn’t do what your shirt suggested,” Han grunted, voice rough. He bit at McCree’s shoulders again, teeth and lips worrying dark marks in his skin. 

It took a moment for McCree to register what Han was saying, to remember what his shirt had said. “Please,” he whispered. 

“‘Please’ what?” Han rasped against the base of his neck. 

Han gripped McCree’s cock, thumbing the tip to catch the precome dripping down his shaft. He smeared it over McCree’s shaft, drawing his fist slowly down to the base and back. 

McCree lurched forward, gripping the headboard with both hands; his prosthetic hand made the cheap aluminum creak as it bent beneath his grip. “Fuck,” McCree hissed. 

“I’m doing that,” Han growled, resting both hands on McCree’s hips. His other hand returned to McCree’s cock, stroking it from tip to base and back. 

If McCree had any thoughts left in his head, he would be surprised that he’d lasted this long. As it was, orgasm was just out of reach and he was struggling to hold it back. There was something in particular that he wanted. 

“Stop,” McCree gasped. “Stop, Han.” 

Han stopped immediately, shuffling back. He even turned off the prostate massager, bless him. If McCree didn’t remember where his mouth had just been, he would kiss him. 

“What’s wrong?” Han asked, sounding surprisingly worried, though still breathless.

For a moment McCree tried to catch his breath, tried to keep from moving or clenching up around the prostate massager. He did his best to will himself away from the precipice. 

Bless him, Han seemed to understand, breathing hard somewhere behind him. McCree wondered how much he had just accidentally blueballed Han but it didn’t really matter. 

“Got my tests from Ange,” McCree said raggedly when he caught his breath. “I’m clean.”

Han made a strange noise behind him, part interested and part curious. He pressed himself against McCree’s back once more, bringing his hands around. “Oh?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” McCree said roughly, looking over his shoulder at the were. “So fuck me already.” 

Behind him, Han laughed. He groped along McCree’s side to his hip, then reached between them to fiddle with the prostate massager. McCree whined, doglike, when it was jostled in him before it was gently drawn out. 

He could hear Han fiddling with the bottle of lube, heard it bubble obscenely as he squeezed it into his palm and then the wet sounds as he lubed up his cock. 

Then Han shuffled back, touching McCree’s hole. “Don’t care,” he snapped. “Hurry up.” 

Han grunted. “You’d need more—”

“What I _need_ ,” McCree growled, looking over his shoulder at Han. “Is for you to hurry up and fuck me ‘fore I go and find someone else to do it.” 

Instead of being intimidated, Han seemed amused by this. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

The blunt head of Han’s cock bumped against McCree’s tailbone and he jumped, surprised despite himself. Reaching down, Han held his cock steady, finding McCree’s hole and gently pressing forward. 

Damn him but Han was right, he probably _did_ need more preparation, but McCree always did like a nice rough fuck. They weren’t assigned to missions anytime in the next week so he had that long to recover—so why not indulge a little? 

If Woofgang hadn’t been in his room—if this hadn’t happened—McCree would have done something similar anyway. Rode himself to completion on a suction cup dildo while stifling his moans with his knuckles. 

As Han pressed in slowly, slowly, McCree forced himself to breathe, to will his body to relax. Han wasn’t small and _God_ did he reach everywhere in him that McCree hoped. He _burned_ , but it was a good kind of burn that promised lasting memories.

It was a good kind of burn, but one that wasn’t bad enough that he’d have to embarrass everyone with a visit to Ange. 

Han was cursing quietly behind him, face buried between McCree’s shoulder blades. He could feel Han’s cock twitching inside of him and groaned. They remained like that for a while, just breathing as they both got used to the feeling. 

“Move,” McCree whispered. “Move, move, move—”

Cursing, Han did, holding McCree’s hips in a bruising grip. Slowly, and then faster and faster he began to rock his hips. 

For a while, the only sounds were the slap of skin, the wet sound of lube, their rough breaths. Suddenly, Han pulled him back, pulling McCree’s back tight to his chest once more. “I’m close,” Han whispered with his face between McCree’s shoulders. 

McCree grunted, trying to brace himself to reach down and take himself in hand. With Han to hold him up, he ran his hand down his sweat-soaked belly. Grunting, Han shuddered, his hips stuttering and McCree realized that he was coming. 

A moment later McCree yelled when Han’s teeth found their way into his shoulder; one of Han’s hands came up and he dug his nails down McCree’s back, leaving bright red furrows in their wake. 

Hands shaky, McCree reached for his dick, stroking it quickly.

Behind him, Han hummed, his lips pressing sticky kisses to McCree’s neck and shoulders. His hands shifted, wrapping around McCree’s chest. They found McCree’s nipples, pinching them meanly. 

McCree howled, his back arching. He hadn’t realized that it would feel like a white-hot shock straight to his cock and it startled him enough to push him over the edge. Han grunted, no doubt oversensitive as McCree clenched around his softening cock, and his teeth once more found their way into McCree’s shoulder. 

Cursing at that delicious balance between pain and pleasure, McCree lost himself to the static roar building in his ears. 

Slowly he came down as Han eased him to the bed, his cock popping out with a wet squelch. McCree grunted, feeling a sticky line of come begin to ooze out. He could hear Han moving around, still breathing hard, and jumped when he felt something soft wiping down his ass and thighs. 

“You’re going to have to change your sheets,” Han told him, sounding amused. 

McCree felt himself being moved and struggled to help, getting his arms beneath him and rolling himself to the side. Briskly, Han pulled off the blankets and tossed them aside before climbing in bed beside McCree. 

“Fuck you,” McCree muttered, seeing Han’s smug grin as he curled up in bed next to him. He looped an arm around Han’s waist and reeled him in closer. 

Han laughed and let himself be spooned. “Maybe later.” 

Grumbling, McCree buried his face in the back of Han’s neck and closed his eyes. 

* * *

“You bastard,” McCree hissed, looking at himself in the mirror. If he turned his head just a little, he’d see the smug look that Han was giving him so he didn’t, focusing instead on tracing the red marks clawed into his skin. Han hadn’t been gentle with him—not that he expected or particularly _craved_ “gentle”—but what hadn’t stung even a little in the middle of the act now hurt like a bitch.

He sighed. There was nothing for it. It wasn’t like he could just walk into Medical and ask Ange for some biotics—that shit was too expensive to waste on scratches like these. Not to mention it would bring up other uncomfortable questions.

Although…

He glanced at Han and found him on McCree’s bed, propping himself up on an elbow and looking very smug. Ange _did_ know about Woofgang.

But that didn’t change the fact that biotics were too precious to waste on something like this. And once she got over her shock, he knew that Ange would start scolding and he didn’t feel like having a far too detailed discussion of the birds and the bees at 39, no thank you.

“I assure you that my parents were married.”

McCree cursed Han steadily in Spanish and the fucker laughed. Already he seemed less tense—perhaps he really just needed to get laid to loosen up.

Thinking of the wonderful ache still present in his muscles, the tingling in his extremities, and ignoring the damning scratches, McCree couldn’t find it in him to complain. If it got Han to loosen up, he _supposed_ that he could take one for the team and get him laid.

“I’m taking a shower,” McCree announced, hobbling to the hamper to retrieve a pair of mostly-clean boxers. He hissed as his muscles protested and didn’t need to look up to know that Han looked even more smug.

"That's right," Han said as he got dressed. "Your shower's not working. You need to go to the communal showers like everyone else."

Dressed and with his clean clothes in hand, McCree found that Han had changed back and Woofgang was sitting beside the door as if he hadn’t just fucked McCree’s brains out.

“I hate you,” McCree informed him as he opened the door.

Still grinning like the little shit he was, Woofgang gave a small “ _whuff_ ” and shoved his nose where a dog’s nose didn’t belong. Cursing and skipping away as he tried to swat Woofgang’s nose, McCree nearly tripped and fell.

Giving a dog’s laugh, Woofgang ran away down the hall. Evidently he found Reinhardt, judging by the gleeful yell from the big German man.

Still cursing, McCree ducked down a side hallway and tried to walk normal as he walked past the door to the common area.

“We should make sangria!” Lena was saying as he passed. “And maybe sandwiches. Or bring the stuff to make sandwiches so they don’t go soggy.”

“And lots of sunscreen,” Ange said and McCree’s heart dropped.

Fuck.

_The beach outing_.

He shuffled quicker to the communal showers and checked the calendar. As he feared, it was tomorrow. 

There would be no hiding from the team, and no good way to explain the marks. Something that Han would most certainly know. So _that_ had been the reason he had been so smug. 

Despite himself, McCree laughed as he stepped into a shower stall. “That son of a bitch.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). Feel free to stop by and...idk yell at me or something. 
> 
> ~DC


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory beach episode. In which McCree thinks with his dick and Han is more than happy to oblige.

After much pleading, threatening, and bribes of peanut butter, Winston allowed them to go to the beach. He begged out of it, citing a dislike of sand and water in his thick fur and a desire to have the base return to the peace he had grown used to.

Unsupervised (except by Angela who promptly let them run wild so long as they promised to pack and use sunscreen and water) the outing grew into a much larger thing than anyone had expected. Reinhardt insisted on a beach roast and Torbjörn complained that if Reinhardt was allowed his whole roasted hogs, then _he_ should be allowed a separate bonfire. Lena wanted a beach volleyball net and managed to dig out the poles for it somewhere in the abandoned storage areas of the base and Mei just wanted a lounger and a beach umbrella so she could read peacefully.

McCree bowed out of all of the talks, very aware of the dark marks still coloring his skin. In some areas, they had gotten worse, becoming darker and more prominent. Woofgang—and Han, when he changed back in their room—looked annoyingly smug about it but despite his preparation for later humiliation, McCree couldn’t find it in himself to be too upset.

Especially when Han “apologized” so prettily on his knees.

(Even if McCree woke up the next morning to find even more bruises pressed and sucked into his thighs that he had missed while otherwise occupied.)

The morning found him carrying beach bags slung over his shoulder and a cooler in his prosthetic hand. Woofgang seemed pleased to be out, despite his frustration at having to wear a leash and harness. He walked obediently beside McCree but occasionally moved aside to sniff something interesting along the path. He didn’t stray far and since he wasn’t _actually_ a dog, McCree tucked his lead into his harness and let him roam. It wasn’t like they expected to run into anyone until just before the beach, anyway.

And it wasn’t like anyone was likely to approach the beach, given that it was only accessible from the Overwatch base and by boat.

The longer they walked the path down to the shore, the more he noticed Woofgang wander off. By McCree’s guess it was a half hour walk but they had left late and the sun was beating down on them.

When Woofgang grumbled and moved to sit briefly in the shade of a scraggly tree, McCree sighed and called for a halt. He put the cooler down and held out a paw. “Give,” he said and Woofgang seemed more than happy to oblige, shoving a paw larger than most saucers into his hand. McCree cursed to himself.

“Is something wrong?” Angela asked as the group stopped as well.

McCree dropped Woofgang’s paw and touched the ground. Though it was obvious that Woofgang was used to walking long distances, it was an entirely different matter for him to be walking on hot asphalt like this. He cursed when it burned, heated by the midmorning sun.

Worse, they were still a ways from the beach—from his grainy memories of the path, it was another twenty-minute walk, and then another ten over the rocks to get to the beach.

“Oh no,” Mei said, likely realizing the reason for his cursing. “It’s too hot for his paws, isn’t it?”

“We didn’t think about that,” Lena said quietly. “Oh no.”

“We probably need to carry him,” Torbörn said, which McCree thought was horribly unfair—obviously the engineer would not be participating in that horrible task. “I don’t think there’s much shade left.”

Woofgang whined, looking piteously up at McCree. Well aware of his shenanigans, McCree squinted at him. He couldn’t call the were on it though, not with so many witnesses well within earshot.

“None of us are big enough to carry him,” Angela murmured, sounding far too amused. McCree squinted at her as well. “He’s nearly 90 kilos. Probably because you keep feeding him treats.” 

Woofgang seemed to squint up at her as if to ask, _are you calling me fat?_

Scrubbing a hand down his face, McCree cursed to himself. That made Woofgang weigh about as much as anyone else there. Hell, he probably weighed about as much as Lena and Angela combined.

Reinhardt’s face fell. “I would volunteer, but…” But he was already carrying so much—and the whole roasted hog that he insisted on was probably at least 30 kilos. Combined with the wood, roasting spits, and other gear he needed for it, he was already weighed down.

Brigitte was carrying some of the firewood and charcoal for Torbjörn’s bonfire and the other cooler, loaded with ice and drinks; Mei and Angela traded off with the cooler that had their lunch as well as the beach chairs that they had managed to find around base. Lena had the towels, sunscreen, her beach volleyball stakes, and the toys they had all gotten for Woofgang to play on the beach.

“Here,” Angela said, taking the cooler from McCree. “This just has the sides for dinner. I think I can manage it.”

“Yes,” Mei said brightly. “I think I can manage the one with our lunch. And if you give me one of your bags, I think we should be fine. Dr. Ziegler and I will just have to go a little slower, that’s all.”

Torbjörn picked up the other bag before McCree could stop either of them. He sighed.

“Do you think you can manage it?” Brigitte asked, all innocence, and McCree was sorely tempted to tell them that he just _knew_ that Woofgang was going to be a little shit, but it wasn’t worth it.

He sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll manage.” Woofgang seemed to smirk at him. “C’mon, you little shit.”

Very carefully he lifted Woofgang’s paws over his shoulders as he debated how best to carry the enormous were. Woofgang turned his face into the side of McCree’s face, his warm nose next to his ear and made a very soft _ooohhh_ sound.

McCree pulled away and squinted at Woofgang. His tongue lolled out and his plumed tail wagged, the picture of canine innocence.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, is it?” McCree asked. Woofgang sneezed in his face; Angela snorted as she tried to stifle her laughter.

The team moved on, which McCree was thankful for.

“You little fucker,” McCree grumbled and Woofgang sounded like he was laughing. “Come on. Fireman’s carry, I suppose.” He knelt and Woofgang moved obligingly into place to allow him to more easily tuck himself beneath his barrel and lift him over his shoulders. Grunting, McCree stood up, holding Woofgang’s legs in his arms to steady him.

Woofgang once more moved his snout close to McCree’s ears and made a sound that seemed far too similar to Han’s laugh.

“Don’t you dare,” McCree hissed under his breath. “It’s bad enough I’m gonna need to keep my shirt on but don’t you _dare_ —”

Woofgang made a low _ooohh_ noise again, which sounded too much like the noises he had heard from Han the previous night. Then he laughed—he fucking _laughed_.

“I swear to all fuck,” McCree hissed to Woofgang as he began to walk. “I _swear_ if you make me get a boner in front of _everyone_ …”

Woofgang laughed again. But he seemed thankful enough for the ride and fell silent…for a time. Every once in a while, he leaned his snout close to McCree’s ear to make _noises_ that were far too similar to what he’d heard from Han in _very_ different circumstances.

“If you keep this up, I’ll ask Lena to shave you,” McCree threatened, panting beneath Woofgang’s growing weight. “I’ll tell her that you’re overheating from the sun from all that fur. See if I don’t.”

Though Woofgang gave him a suspicious look, he nevertheless seemed very amused by this and gave McCree an innocent canine smile.

After a time, the sounds of their teammates had faded and McCree had to pause beside some gnarled sea plants to put Woofgang down. He panted, trying to catch his breath while he shook his arms. “You’re damn fucking heavy,” McCree informed Woofgang who snorted as if to say, _fuck you_.

With a pointed glance, Woofgang began to make his way carefully down the path, walking gingerly in the shallow ditch next to the old asphalt road where it would be less painful to his poor paws.

Still panting and aware that he was dripping with sweat, McCree trailed after him. After turning a bend, they could feel the sea breeze and they both sighed almost in unison.

Eyeing Woofgang’s thick curls, McCree chuckled. “Maybe we ought’a trim you anyway,” he teased and Woofgang gave him a reproachful look. “No, but really. You were sweating your poor balls off in Australia and think about how nice you felt when we gave you a bit of a trim.”

Woofgang gave him a look as if to say, _you leave my balls out of this conversation_.

Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on McCree’s part.

“Just trim you a little,” McCree wheedled. “Then you won’t be so hot.”

Woofgang snorted as they neared the shore. McCree pulled off his boots and the both of them cut quickly across the hot sand. Once more they both sighed in near-unison when they reached the strip of sand perpetually damp from the water.

With a canine laugh, Woofgang waded elbow-deep in the water, his tongue lolling out in glee. Despite himself, McCree laughed at the were.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s catch up with everyone else.”

From the way that Woofgang bounded through the water, he’d be exhausted and want a nap after they made it back to the team, but that was fine. McCree just hoped that he wouldn’t be so exhausted that he accidentally changed back.

Perhaps after lunch he should volunteer to take Woofgang on a walk further down the shore for a nap—just in case.

* * *

It ended up being a moot point. After lunch, Woofgang curled up close to McCree with his chin resting on his thigh. Whenever he thought that Woofgang was falling too deeply asleep he bounced his leg to wake him up. Though Woofgang obviously didn’t appreciate being woken up, a few times he gave McCree a very relieved look, leading him to believe that he was helping somewhat.

“I don’t believe it,” Lena complained to McCree. “You were so gung-ho about being here and yet you’re still wearing your shirt! Come on! It must be hot.”

As if knowing exactly why McCree was reluctant to take off his shirt, Angela smiled into her drink. “Yeah,” Brigitte said.

She was dressed down to a short pair of surf shorts and a bikini top. Likewise, everyone had traded the clothes they had worn on the walk down in favor of something lighter on the beach.

Unfortunately, this meant that they were all… _treated_ …to the sight of Torbjörn’s hairy body as he paraded around in a skimpy swimsuit that a man half his age would have worn.

Despite the sea breeze and the shade they found beneath a rock archway, it was still hot, the sand radiating heat upwards. It meant that McCree’s shirt was plastered to his skin, heavy and uncomfortable. 

“I really do hate you,” McCree told Woofgang who lay on the sand next to him. The were seemed to smirk as McCree used his shirt to fan himself. It did little and he sighed. “I’m going in the water. You coming?”

Woofgang followed him readily, trotting next to him toward the blue waters. He seemed hesitant to get much deeper than chest-deep but watched with his too-knowing eyes as McCree waded in further.

“Come on,” McCree called as Woofgang squinted after him suspiciously. “I’m sure you can swim.”

Woofgang sneezed and holding his nose high above the water, he began to paddle over to McCree.

He yelped in surprise when he felt a very human-shaped hand slip beneath his wet shirt. Looking down, he found that Woofgang’s face seemed shorter, his fur less thick around his shoulders; just beneath the waves, he could see that he was half-changed into Han.

“You bastard,” he hissed. “Change back.”

Han’s fingers pinched him as if to tell him that he didn’t take orders before doing as requested. McCree led them around, walking backwards as Woofgang swam after him. During a break where McCree held Woofgang afloat, he whispered, “When we go back to shore, run along those rocks there like you see something.”

Woofgang sneezed in his face when he pulled back and kicked away as he sputtered, swimming to shore where he shook himself off, spraying Lena and Ange with water. He ran to cause mischief with Reinhardt’s fire, knocking over the neat stacks of logs, generally getting underfoot.

As McCree waded back to shore, relaxing in the cool water, he watched Woofgang enjoy himself. He tried to steal Mei’s ice pop, kicked up sand on Torbjörn as he ran, and caused chaos on the beach.

Running back toward McCree, Woofgang stopped, his head coming up high and alert. If he hadn’t been aware of the plan, McCree would have been fooled.

“Woof,” Woofgang said, the sound coming from deep in his big chest. Then he bayed like a hunting hound and took off down the beach, kicking up sand as he made for a cluster of rocks and tide pools around the bend.

Cursing, McCree dragged himself out of the water. “I got ‘im,” he yelled when Reinhardt and Lena made to follow. “Shit. Woofgang!”

When he finally caught up to Woofgang, he found the shifter stretched out on a tall rock, looking too smug for a dog. Breathing hard, McCree shook his finger at him. “ _You_.”

Woofgang shifted back and lay on his side, propping his head up with one arm. “Don’t complain,” Han teased. “ _You_ are the one desperate enough to think of a reason for us to get some _alone time_.”

“Fuck you,” McCree hissed.

Smoothly, Han jumped down and crowded McCree against the tall rock. “That can be arranged,” he whispered into McCree’s ear. “Although…do you want to do that _here?_ ”

It wasn’t fair—Han’s lovely, smooth, unbroken skin was entirely on display and McCree was still clothed. His wet swim shorts clung uncomfortably to his legs and he was still breathing hard from sprinting across the sand when “Woofgang” decided to “run away”. But here was Han, perfectly cool and calm, not breathing hard as he pinned McCree in place, as his teeth and lips found the sensitive side of McCree’s neck.

His hands found Han’s bare hips, pressing bruises there as he let his head fall back to expose more of his neck to Han’s teeth.

“I’ve seen what you pack,” Han said, his voice delightfully rumbly against McCree’s neck. “Do you think I’d be able to keep quiet? You’d have to gag me.”

McCree felt a bolt of arousal shoot through his veins like lightning at the thought of Han, his back beautifully arched, ropes crossing his chest and tying his hands behind his back. A bright red gag, buckled behind his head, messing up his long hair and making him drool. 

“You _like_ that idea,” Han observed, his breath puffing against McCree’s neck. “I can feel how much you do. Do you like the idea of me gagged? Do you think that I’ll be at your mercy?”

McCree wanted to imagine it. He wasn’t much of a pushover but he did get weak in the knees for a mean man in bed, and Han was absolutely that kind of person. Han wouldn’t be one to go down without a fight—and in hand-to-hand, McCree didn’t think that he could win against the strength he could see in Han’s arms.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that Han would never be at his mercy—unless he chose to be.

Han’s fingers slid down the front of McCree’s shirt, fiddling with the ties of his shorts. “You can’t be a virgin,” he said. “And yet you’re still here standing around.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” McCree hissed.

That same mouth split in a wicked grin that made McCree lightheaded. He jumped at the too-loud sound of the Velcro—Han had succeeded in pulling apart the ties of his swim shorts and ripped open the front.

Han knelt, peeling the shorts down with him. He pushed at McCree’s thighs, pushing his hips against the stone If McCree’s blood hadn’t rushed south quite so quickly, he’d find it funny that their height difference, apparent only in the differences of their legs and torsos, meant that Han’s face was too low to get his mouth where McCree wanted it. 

If Han was bothered by this he gave no sign, hobbling McCree with his own wet pants. When he stood again, his hand caught on McCree’s cock, already nearly completely hard, and gave it a long, slow tug. 

“You’re too tall,” Han said, giving McCree’s cock another tug. Heat pooled in his belly and McCree hissed. Suddenly the hot body pressed against his was gone and McCree stared, slack-jawed, as Han backed up. 

Han licked the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, that come-hither look still burning in his eyes. “Well?” he asked. “Are you coming?” He led the way to another stone that had been worn smooth by the movement of waves. 

McCree followed, stumbling from his shorts hobbling his legs. When he reached Han, he was pulled into a biting kiss and thrown on the stone in Han’s place. “Fuck!” 

“I don’t know why you want to do that _here_ ,” Han said smugly, a moment before he closed his lips around McCree’s cock. 

Anything he was about to say escaped instead as a shout, ripped from his throat before he could think to stifle it. Han hummed around McCree’s cock, doing _something_ with his lips and tongue that had McCree shaking, his toes curling in the sand. 

With one hand he muffled his groans; he fisted the other in Han’s hair, digging his fingertips into his scalp. This time it was Han that groaned, his voice rumbling over McCree’s cock. He bucked his hips and Han’s throat clicked; he gagged but didn’t pull away, instead shoving his face and screwing his mouth deeper despite the fluttering of his throat. 

“Fuck,” McCree gasped and bucked his hips again. Han lifted his hands, gripping McCree’s hips and tugging as if encouraging him. So he did it again, and again. 

Peeking down, he found Han rolling his eyes to look up at him, his face red and flushed. Tears pricked at the corners of his dark eyes, clumping his lashes, and his lips were stretched wide around McCree’s cock. Seeing McCree looking, Han dropped his jaw lower and shoved his head forward, taking more of McCree’s cock into his throat. Spit made his lips shiny, his beard sticking up in awkward clumps. 

Han’s eyes watered but they were still defiant, still daring as they stared up at McCree. It was those dark eyes that pushed McCree over the edge. He fisted both of his hands in Han’s hair as he came, bowing over the other man’s head as he bucked his hips. 

When the aftershocks had died down, McCree uncurled his fingers from Han’s head. The man pulled back, gave him an unreadable look, and turned his head to spit and cough. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smirked. 

“Fuck,” McCree rasped. “C’mere.” He dragged Han close, tugged him into his lap. It only took a few strokes for Han to curse breathlessly and come messily over McCree’s chest and belly, his teeth buried in the thick muscle between neck and shoulder. 

Despite the exhaustion still making his bones heavy, McCree could feel his dick twitch in interest. 

“Fuck,” McCree gasped and Han hummed in agreement. He was dragged into a kiss and made a face at the taste of himself on Han’s lips. 

The other man laughed and pulled back, cocking his head. “You had better get dressed quickly,” Han said with a mean little laugh. “Reinhardt and Dr. Ziegler are coming to check on you.” Cursing, McCree fumbled with his wet pants, which had been bunched up at his knees. 

Laughing, Han caught him in another biting, come-flavored kiss that left him breathless before backing away and sliding into his other form like a second skin. McCree waddled awkwardly into the water, aware of the come marking his chest and belly. As he did so, he cursed Han as Woofgang played in the surf. 

By the time Reinahrdt and Ange joined them, everything was back in order. “We were getting worried,” Reinhardt explained. “Is Woofgang alright?” 

Barking, Woofgang ran excitedly to Reinhardt and leapt into his arms. Ange smirked at McCree, her eyes lingering on his shoulder and the mark that Han had undoubtedly left. When McCree glared at her, she looked away but knew that she would absolutely be teasing him about it later. 

“You won’t believe who came to join us,” she said as they began making their way back. Woofgang wiggled out of Reinhardt’s hands and moved to trot happily at McCree’s side, occasionally shooting smug glances up at him. 

“Oh?” McCree asked, distracted by making faces at Woofgang behind Reinhardt’s back. 

“McCree!” surprised, McCree looked up and found Genji, dressed in sweats and a hoodie despite the hot day, waving excitedly at him. “Mc—” he stopped suddenly, as did Woofgang.

McCree looked back and forth between Woofgang and Genji. The were had tucked his tail between his legs and had begun backing up. 

“Oh,” Genji said after a long and awkward pause. 

“Don’t worry, he’s perfectly friendly!” Reinhardt exclaimed.

At the same time, Genji said, “I didn’t expect to see you here already, Hanzo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I always love hearing from you. 
> 
> You can also find me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus).
> 
> ~DC


	5. Chapter 5

“You don’t understand,” Genji insisted.

It had been hours. Woofgang hadn’t come out from behind McCree, had more than once looked ready to bolt. _Stay_ , McCree signed discreetly to him and Woofgang gave him a disbelieving look but obeyed.

Even Reinhardt was growing frustrated. “Woofgang is a dog,” he said in a tone of voice that a smart man would recognize ended the conversation. “He is our dog, our companion. There is nothing more to it.”

Genji huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he said. “ _That is my brother_. He is a were-dog. Not even a proper werewolf.”

That just seemed rude. McCree made it up to Woofgang by feeding him a piece of pork skin followed by a hefty glob of fat. The way that Woofgang ate it, it was as if he was being fed his last meal before execution.

So many things made sense now.

“Han”. When he had first said his human name, it had sounded like it was cut off. Now it made sense that it was cut off, since his full name was Hanzo. Hanzo Shimada.

Shit.

Woofgang wouldn’t look at him and McCree reached down to scratch his ruff. A part of him broke the way that Woofgang flinched, as if expecting a noose.

“Shit, Genji,” McCree found himself saying. “He’s just a fucking dog.” Everyone turned and looked at him. When he saw the tumbleweed rolling past, he realized that he had nearly lost control again. He took a deep breath and smiled a smile that he didn’t feel, that didn’t reach his eyes. “With all the time I spend with him, you’d think I’d notice if he wasn’t just a dog.”

“Yes,” Angela added. “He’s smart, but he’s clearly an old military or service dog. Given the area we found him in, it’s not uncommon for pets to be abandoned, as terrible as it is.”

Genji looked at McCree, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That doesn’t change the fact that—”

“ _And_ ,” Angela interrupted, with enough bite to her voice that Genji looked at her in surprise. “I’ve treated him for injuries. I’ve taken him to the vet. Between the two of us—three counting McCree—we’d notice if he was a were.”

“Yes,” Genji said testily. “But you don’t understand. He’s very good at—”

“No matter how good a were is,” Angela told him loftily. “They will always transform back under too much stress. Fall too deeply asleep, they will lose control of their form. Despite our best efforts to protect him, Woofgang has been through a lot with us. We’ve had to do emergency surgery on him when we were attacked by Talon.” She gave him a meaningful look.

“Perhaps,” said the omnic that had come with Genji. He wore the yellow pants and red rope belt of the Shambali and something about him unsettled Woofgang.

Something about him unsettled _McCree_ , if he was being perfectly honest. Maybe it was because his “eyes” weren’t quite visible on his smooth face, being either two narrow slits or the nine glowing dots on his forehead. Maybe it was the way that he floated above the sand, the gentle pulses of the antigrav engines sending little puffs of sand around their ankles.

Maybe it was his too-knowing looks.

But he offered a hand to Woofgang and didn’t seem upset that Woofgang refused to approach him.

“Perhaps,” the omnic said again. “This is a truth that we are not yet ready to understand.”

“Didn’t your brother try to kill you?” Lena asked and McCree felt Woofgang flinch against his side. He gave the were another chunk of pulled pork and scratched his ruff.

Genji stepped toward Woofgang who stepped back, ducking behind McCree. “Face me, you coward,” he said.

“Genji,” Brigitte said with exasperation. “Leave the poor thing alone.”

“If you try to force a reunion, you will only cause him to fear you more,” the omnic said serenely. “If he chooses to greet you, then he will greet you.”

McCree stood with a groan. “Alright,” he said and Woofgang looked up at him, his eyes wide and nervous. “I think it’s time for me and Woofgang to call it a day, huh bud?” Woofgang’s tail wagged tentatively. “If he plays out here any longer, I don’t think he’ll be awake to walk back up.”

Everyone looked back at the trial and winced. Carrying Woofgang down was enough of a hardship, but hauling him back up?

“Do you want me to take anything back?” McCree asked as he began packing up. “Woofgang, come.”

Woofgang seemed all too relieved to be put in his walking harness and clipped to a leash. McCree patted his shoulder reassuringly, looped the leash around his wrist, and began walking up the trail.

“Fer God’s sake,” he heard Torbjörn cry. “Just leave it be, Genji.”

Further up the trail, Woofgang paused, his head hanging low. He seemed relieved and McCree waited his pause out before realizing that Woofgang seemed to be waiting for something.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to base. Now’s not a good place for naptime,” he added in case the omnic or Genji came up behind them.

Woofgang sighed, nodded, and walked beside McCree once more. It was a long hike back to base and McCree felt more than ready for a nap but knew that there were other things that needed to be done.

“Come on,” he murmured to Woofgang. “We should wash out the salt from your fur.”

Beside him, Woofgang heaved a heavy sigh but followed him into the communal bathrooms. McCree hung up his harness and leash—he didn’t need it on base—and turned on the water. After the final wash, McCree moved into the next stall, pulling off his shirt and peeling off his wet pants.

Next to him, the shower turned off and hands cautiously helped him undress the rest of the way. “Think you sucked my soul outta me earlier,” McCree admitted and turned to flash a nervous smile at Han—at _Hanzo_. “Don’t think I’m gonna be getting it up for a little bit.”

“You must be…upset,” Hanzo said slowly.

McCree shrugged. “I was,” he admitted. “But that was earlier. I thought the whole ‘pretending to be a dog’ thing was a bit of a dick move, but I get it. I’ve been on the run—if I could find an easy life like being a family pet, I would.” He stepped beneath the water with a sigh.

“Surely you must know my…history with Genji.”

Wiping water from his eyes, McCree peeked at Hanzo. “C’mere before someone sees you,” he said and Hanzo slipped into the stall, closing the curtain behind him. “Han—sorry, _Hanzo_ —I watched you, as a dog, tear a man’s throat out. I’ve always known you were dangerous and frankly?” he shrugged. “Love the guy, but Genji’s enough of a shit that I can see why you might want to murder him.”

When Hanzo didn’t say anything, McCree turned around and found him looking down, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked strangely…diminished. From what little McCree knew of Hanzo, this was extremely out of character for him.

McCree didn’t want to think of why, but he thought that he could guess at least one reason.

He stepped forward and cupped Hanzo’s cheek. “Look at me?” Slowly, Hanzo looked up. It was the same look that Woofgang often got, especially when he first came to base with them. The one that broke McCree’s heart, the look that went with that soft whine in response to a soft touch.

The one that showed just how much Hanzo and Woofgang had been starved of affection. 

He drew Hanzo into a soft kiss and felt the were tremble against him.

McCree couldn’t tell why he did it. Hanzo was an asshole, was demanding in all aspects of their interactions (even if he didn’t complain too much about him being demanding in bed). He was right: it _was_ a bit of a dick move to pretend to be a dog, especially given the context of the new Overwatch, but if that was his only sin, then that could be excused.

That wasn’t it though, was it? He was Shimada—he was _Genji’s brother_ , who had infamously murdered him. _Tried_ to murder him. He’d failed but it had left Genji in such a state that the only way to save his life had been to install cybernetic implants.

And that wasn’t his only sin, was it? He was ex- _yakuza_ (though McCree couldn’t judge him too harshly for that, being ex-Deadlock himself), had murdered, lied, and cheated (just like McCree had) and, from what very little he knew about the man, had tried to atone for his sins.

Like McCree had, even if his path to redemption, however cut short it had been, had been initiated against his will.

In some ways, Hanzo’s story mirrored his except that Hanzo hadn’t had that mentor to stop him from doing something stupid. Nobody had stopped Hanzo from killing Genji—he hadn’t had any allies backing him, from what Genji had told him of the Shimada Clan hierarchy. He had nobody he could trust except Genji and even then, Genji’s regard could have been bought with drugs and sex.

Deadlock was similarly dog-eat-dog but McCree knew that there were people he could trust, even a little bit. He was never destined to be a leader, even if Ashe had assigned him to be one. He was a grunt, plain and simple, albeit one with authority that he never used, and Ashe and Bob always had his back.

Though perhaps that wasn’t always true. Just as Hanzo hadn’t had anyone to stop him from the terrible sin of killing his own brother, McCree had nobody to stop him from turning Deadlock over to the feds.

To be fair also wasn’t quite true, even if that was the lie that had been told by Ashe. McCree hadn’t been the first person to invite Overwatch to the party. There had been another, one who even now McCree didn’t know had been there. He knew that Torbjörn had gone undercover as a biker, but that had been _after_ Overwatch and Blackwatch had gotten involved.

No, McCree had been caught fair and square, and it had been after the fall that he gave in, allowed himself to be housebroken. If he had held out, like all of the other Deadlock prisoners sent away to maximum, he might have been able to break out. They were blood, Deadlock was, and they looked after their own. Still, McCree hadn’t _known_. He knew that Ashe would have the gall to go after the maximum security prisons so that word would trickle down, inspire riots and jailbreaks in the lower grunts imprisoned elsewhere, but he hadn’t _known_ if she’d succeed. If she failed, she’d get a slap on the wrist, perhaps a few months’ in jail because of her wealth and family name, but what would happen to McCree?

He’d heard reports two years after signing on with Blackwatch that there had been a massive prison break. Ashe had come to collect their people— _her_ people, because he was dead to them. A part of him was furious—he betrayed them for what? Logic?—but what’s done was done.

What a shit show it had been. Reyes had been furious; it was yet another wedge that had been forming between him and Morrison, but that had never been his concern.

Hanzo’s hands tentatively touched his hips and brought McCree back to reality. The were’s eyes were on his, his face twisted into an odd expression of guilt and worry.

“What’s wrong?” McCree asked.

“You had gone somewhere that I can’t reach,” Hanzo said after a moment. _Somewhere that I cannot follow_ , he didn’t say but McCree could hear as if he did.

Smiling, McCree gently kissed Hanzo again. “And you brought me back,” he said. “Now, let’s get cleaned up and head back. I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.”

This was a different facet to their relationship that made something soft bloom in his chest. Hanzo’s hands were soft on him, his calluses rubbing over skin and scars, the way eased by the generic soap in the washroom but his touch wasn’t sexual, just as McCree’s wasn’t.

Before, such soft touches were reserved only for Woofgang. _Han_ ’s touches— _Hanzo’s_ touches were of a different nature, rough and demanding. Now the line between Hanzo and Woofgang were blending together and McCree had no idea how to feel about it.

From the expression on Hanzo’s face, he didn’t know what to think either.

They cleaned up together and rinsed off as the water became frigid. Shivering, gooseflesh rising over their skin, they dried off and Hanzo turned back into Woofgang, waiting patiently as McCree blow dried his fur. He resembled a greyish ball of fluff when McCree was done and Woofgang sneezed as if to say _fuck you_.

Woofgang followed at his heel down the hall, waving tiredly to Winston who didn’t seem to notice them before closing the door behind him.

“Get up here,” McCree said as he changed into something more comfortable for a late afternoon nap. About to curl up in his dog bed, Woofgang paused. “What, do you think Genji will barge in?” from the expression on Woofgang’s whiskery face, he thought exactly that. “He won’t do that, not yet. Get up here.”

He climbed on top of the covers and smiled when he felt the bed dip. A big arm, decorated with a tattoo of a dragon flying through storm clouds, wrapped around his waist and tugged him back. Hanzo’s face was buried in his shoulders, their hips fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

After a moment of hesitation, McCree put his hand over Hanzo’s arm and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

Come evening, Hanzo tentatively suggested that they return to the beach. The asphalt would be cooler on Woofgang’s paws so he could more easily make the trip.

“Genji will be there,” McCree warned.

Hanzo flinched against him. “I know,” he said. “But it’s a team dinner. Shouldn’t you be there too?”

“We should,” McCree agreed. “But we don’t have to be. The team will understand.”

“I’m not a part of the team,” Hanzo corrected quietly. “Nobody else knows that I’m here.”

McCree tucked Hanzo tighter against his chest and tried to ignore the warmth that bloomed when Hanzo tucked his face into his neck. “We don’t have to,” McCree said. “They wouldn’t blame us.”

“Oh, there are many things I’d much rather do,” Hanzo said and a very small part of McCree felt relieved at the brief return of their usual relationship. This softness was new and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it; the demand and the burn and the bite, even the faintest hint of it, was almost refreshing. “But…”

McCree sighed. “Come on,” he said reluctantly and pulled away. When Hanzo blinked up at him, McCree leaned close and pressed a soft kiss to his lips and _ached_ at the soft, surprised sound that Hanzo released. “If you get uncomfortable, yelp,” McCree whispered, his hand resting too-comfortably on Hanzo’s hip. “You know how protective Lena and Reinhardt get. That’ll buy you some time.”

This time it was Hanzo’s turn to sigh. “How long will it last, though?” he asked softly. It seemed that he didn’t want an answer because a moment later, he was in his other skin. Woofgang’s tail thumped happily against the bed and just because he could, McCree leaned close and pressed a kiss to his wet nose.

Woofgang gave him a look as if to say, _is that a game you want to play, cowboy?_ He lunged forward and licked McCree from chin to forehead and rolled way, wheezing in canine laughter, while McCree sputtered and yelled. He joined Woofgang in laughter as he scrubbed dog drool off his face and smacked Woofgang with a pillow when he tried to come back for a second pass; Woofgang instead sneezed in his face.

His tail was wagging when McCree stood up and McCree couldn’t help but smile. “Alright you little shit,” he said. “If we go back down, you’re pulling your own weight this time—and you’re getting another bath.”

He realized his mistake when Woofgang gave a very un-doglike smirk. Coming back with the team meant that there were more witnesses. Which meant that Woofgang could act up—it was expected, given his public hatred of baths.

But it was that or let Woofgang track sand into the bed, something that Hanzo would hate as well.

Sand. The herpes of the natural world.

True to his word, McCree put on Woofgang’s new tactical harness, ostensibly to get him used to the weight and feel of it on his body. It would provide armor but also allow him to load Woofgang with additional supplies if need be. Now he used the pouches to carry additional snacks and a few bottles of water. He loaded a duffel bag with beer and ciders and more bottles of water.

Looping Woofgang’s lead around his wrist, they set out again for the beach.

The sun was just setting, turning the horizon shades of pink and orange, when they reached the beach; by the time they reached the team, still clustered around the huge fire pits to combat the cool night air, the sky was beginning to turn shades of violet and indigo, the last hints of the fire of the sun caught in the caps of the waves.

They were met with excitement, especially when they saw Woofgang’s new tactical vest and the snacks he brought. He got a lot of ‘good boy’s and scratches behind his ears, his tail wagging excitedly as he walked up to his favorites.

“I’m surprised you came back down,” Angela murmured to McCree as she ostensibly came by to have a cider.

McCree shrugged, forcing himself to act casual as he watched Woofgang weave in and out of the group, clearly avoiding Genji and his omnic companion. “He wanted to,” he said just as quietly.

She gave him one last look before grabbing a cider and walking back to Mei. There she traded bottles: the cider she had just gotten from McCree for some IPA that she’d taken a liking to. He watched Mei open the cider and take a cautious sip and smiled when she did.

Woofgang’s high-pitched yelp made him turn fast enough that he pulled something in his neck and he found that Genji was stomping toward the were. “Brother—” Genji began but was interrupted by Lena, who stomped up and planted herself between him and Woofgang.

“No,” she said sternly, jabbing a finger in his face. “You stay right there.” Tail tucked between his legs, Woofgang sprinted for McCree who scratched his ears. “You leave that poor dog alone. He’s been through enough.”

Genji jabbed a finger at Woofgang who flinched against McCree’s leg. “ _That_ is not a dog. _That_ is a were-dog—a were-dog that happens to be my brother!” he turned to his omnic companion who had apparently been given Mei’s floppy sun hat and still wore it despite the day falling to night. “Master! Surely you can tell? There are bio-signatures all over that show presence of weres.”

Once more, Woofgang flinched against McCree’s leg, a high whine building in his throat; McCree’s stomach turned to ice. He scratched Woofgang’s ruff and ears with an ease that he didn’t really feel.

“Perhaps,” the omnic said slowly, in that contemplative way of his. “But even if I could, what would you gain from it? If this were is indeed your brother, then why would it be an issue if he is here as a pet?”

Genji turned to stare at him incredulously. “ _Master_.”

“Dr. Ziegler?” the omnic turned to Angela. “You have said earlier that you have done minor surgery on him—Woofgang, was it?”

“Woofgang Puck,” Angela said dryly. “Reinhardt named him. It stuck.”

Reinhardt laughed, the sound too-loud in the awkward silence of the group. “It’s a good name!” he insisted. “A strong name!”

The omnic hummed. “Well, it is common knowledge that weres, as Dr. Ziegler mentioned before, must concentrate in order to maintain their other skin. And historically, weres have not been able to keep their other skin during heavy anesthesia such as during any kind of surgery. So if she has not reported a strange man appearing in the place of your Woofgang, then perhaps you should believe that he is, in fact, just a dog.”

It was a struggle to keep a straight face. He arched a brow at Genji who stared incredulously at the omnic. “Master,” he said, sounding betrayed.

“Further,” the omnic said reasonably. “If Woofgang is indeed your brother Hanzo, would he not have revealed himself sooner? How often did you tell me that Hanzo would not have allied with Talon? Why else would he be here undercover?” the gathering was silent save for the sound of the crackling of the fires and the hiss of the waves on the shore. “No, I think that given that information, Woofgang must be as he appears to be: just a dog.”

McCree could feel Woofgang trembling against his leg and he reached down to pat his shoulder. They collar they gave him bumped against his hands, the tags jingling; Woofgang looked up at him, dread visible even in his whiskery, canine face. McCree reached into his pocket and gave him a treat, murmured that he was a good boy. The were gingerly took the treat but didn’t eat it, holding it gently between his jaws.

“I know my brother,” Genji hissed.

“Dr. Ziegler,” the omnic said. “I admit that I am not a doctor despite the information I can access through wireless networks. However, are you aware of reports of weres losing themselves in their other skins?”

Angela took a deep drink of her IPA. “Yeah,” she said when she was done. “It’s very common—a part of the reason it’s so well documented is through an anti-were movement from the past century. Though the practice and stigma has since died down, it is still the most common…issue…recorded for weres. Many recorded weres are required to submit themselves to routine psychological reviews to determine whether their ‘human’ side and their ‘animal’ side are…ah… _properly_ separate.”

“What?” Lena demanded.

Reinhardt sighed. “I’d heard something like that,” he admitted. “It happened a lot in the Crusaders. At first, we thought that it was just for routine psychological evaluations, but then we realized that only the weres were being required to attend.”

Grimly, Angela nodded. “But cases of weres going…well, the term that is widely used is called ‘feral’. So yes, Zenyatta, I am aware of reports of weres losing themselves in their other skins.” 

The omnic, apparently called Zenyatta, nodded serenely. “But that can’t have happened to Hanzo,” Genji protested. “I saw him just…” he trailed off. 

“From what you told me,” Zenyatta said gently. “You had seen him almost a year ago. You challenged him to a fight and upon defeating him, ordered him to join Overwatch.” 

Again, silence. McCree patted Woofgang’s hunched shoulders. 

Zenyatta turned his smooth faceplate to face McCree and Woofgang. “If he is indeed Hanzo and he chooses this life, then who are we to deny him?” 

* * *

Late that night, Woofgang walked into one of the rooms that Zenyatta and Genji had appropriated for their use. Mats had been laid out, along with small burners of incense; a woven hanging with the symbol of the Iris hung from one wall. 

At its center, Zenyatta meditated, the orbs that had been clustered around his neck earlier now spinning in slow orbit around him. 

“Don’t,” he said without turning around or giving any indication that he had seen Woofgang. He paused, a paw in the air. “You have enough people lying for you. I will not join their number.” 

For a moment, they both waited in silence. Then Woofgang turned around and began walking back out. 

“For what it’s worth,” Zenyatta added as Woofgang approached the door. “I think that you deserve happiness. And I will not be the one to tell Genji.” 

Woofgang looked back over his shoulder at Zenyatta, finding that the omnic had turned around to look at him. _Lying by omission is still lying,_ he said but didn’t. 

As if hearing him, Zenyatta inclined his head. “Goodnight. Woofgang.” 

Turning, Woofgang left. For a moment he lingered in the hallway before turning for McCree’s room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Let me know! I love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> You can also find me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus).
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> ~DC


End file.
